


A Hundred Sunrises: Into the Unknown (Part One of AHS)

by nerdqueenenterprise



Series: A Hundred Sunrises [1]
Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Alternative Universe - War on an Alien Planet, Engineer Tilly, Hugh is still a doctor Michael is still a genius and Lorca is still shady af, M/M, Mentions of Death, Slow Burn, android!Paul Stamets, background Michael Burnham/Sylvia Tilly, mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-02-04 08:49:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 97,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12767376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdqueenenterprise/pseuds/nerdqueenenterprise
Summary: It's the seventh month of the war with the Klingons on Alterra, and either because Captain Lorca is completely mad or the most daring man out there, he's taking his squadron all the way out to Isthmus, closer to the Klingon bases than any other squadron is stationed. And that means that Dr Hugh Culber has no chance but to pack up his medbay and come with.Oh, and accept that he'll be followed everywhere he goes by 19-1026-71, his personal protection android that the captain insisted on. Never mind that 19-1026-71 isn't a fighter android, or that he very empathically doesn't want to be here and is being an asshole about it, or that he's... actually really cute.Great. Hugh's life just got a lot, lot worse.(Each chapter is individually tagged with its triggers in the notes before it.)





	1. I.

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [百日晨辉 A Hundred Sunrises](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15562572) by [Samtree](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samtree/pseuds/Samtree)



> So here it finally is: the android!Paul Culmets AU I've talked so much about!
> 
> A few things beforehand:  
> \- I will update every Sunday, meaning there'll be one new chapter per week. I'll try to keep the chapters between 4-6k.  
> \- There will be a bonus chapter for the winter holidays on Sunday the 24th of December.  
> \- I'll put the specific warnings / heads up for each chapter in the notes in the beginning. If you need something specific tagged / warned, don't hesitate to contact me, either via the comments or on [my tumblr](http://www.shroom-boi-tumblr.com) or via nerdqueenenterprise@gmail.com. I don't bite :)  
> \- It honestly means the world to me when you comment on my writing. Even if you think you have nothing good to say, please say it anyways.  
> \- At the moment, the story is a WIP, but I'll definitely finish it!
> 
> Also, massive, massive, MASSIVE thanks to my amazing beta [Aaliya](http://www.wordssometimesfail.tumblr.com), who keeps asking exactly the right questions to stuff all the plot holes and who makes sure I use the English language correctly :^)  
> Also huge thanks to everyone else who encouraged me to write this! You guys are amazing!
> 
> (P.S.: Whoever manages to catch the sneak references to other media I'll keep putting in here gets a cookie :D)

    “Culber.”

He finishes up the skin patch and sends the ensign on his way before turning around to Captain Lorca.

    “Sir?”

    “New orders. We’re moving out to Isthmus, and you’re coming with. We’re going to be in the thick of it, and we’ll need a doctor. Might be stationed there for a long time.”

    “Huh. And who’s that?” Hugh motions towards the pale blond behind Lorca, who’s… kinda very attractive, actually. Or he would be if he weren’t looking so incredibly annoyed.

    “What is it that people say? A doctor’s worth a thousand men? I can’t have you injured or dead, so that’s your personal guard, to stay with you round the clock. Get to packing; you’ll have two containers for medical on the convoy, and I want to leave before the next sun-up.”

The plastic flaps hit the wall as he makes his way outside, and then Hugh is alone with the stranger. Personal guard, good lord.

Better make friends, then.

    “Hugh Culber,” he says, walking over and offering the blond his hand. 

The blond stares down at it disdainfully before pointedly crossing his arms in front of his chest. Hugh sighs and withdraws his hand. Gotten off to a great start.

    “What’s your name?”

Blondie meets his eyes and glares. Fuck, maybe he’s mute and Hugh has missed a giant, obvious clue and is being rude now. He hopes not, because then he’d have absolutely no chance with him.

    “19-1026-71.”

Oh. He’s an android then. Well, the pale blue eyes should’ve tipped Hugh off, but it’s been a while since he met an unit as sophisticated as this one. With the war and the subsequent decline in a need for friendly interfaces, and since most of the androids were utilized as soldiers one way or the other, most companies don’t even bother putting faces on them anymore, much less skin. A lot of the newer models even either lack heads or have detachable drones instead. 

But if it weren’t for the serial number and the eerily light blue of this unit’s eyes, Hugh would’ve been fooled.

    “Cool, um … what am I going to call you?”

The android gives him a face that strongly indicates indignation. Fucking great.

    “Look, um, you’re … obviously not just a robot, so … I don’t want to treat you like a machine.”

    “‘Not just a robot?’” the android parrots his words back at him. “Oh, I’m flattered. You going to treat me like a human being? No insults, no degrading nicknames, no ignoring my personality, no patronizing me, no expecting me to be a machine? You must feel so noble.”

Well. Two things: One, this android is clearly one of the old advanced ones, the kind that was developed to be an independent being, M7G series or older. Two, if he’s going to hang around Hugh twenty four-seven, Hugh is going to either chomp on a bullet or make sure his new guard has a horrible accident.

    “Yeah, I was considering being nice, but given how you’re being an asshole, I think I will too. So are you going to let me work with or without stupid commentary?”

The android swallows and clenches his jaw. On a technological level, it’s amazing how human he appears. On a personal level, Hugh either wants to whack him over the head with a tri gun or bend him over the nearest flat surface and take out his anger that way.

It’s not entirely the android’s fault, Hugh thinks as he starts folding the bigger machines in on themselves for transport. The last couple weeks have been rough - he lost both his nurses, and Command won’t send in new ones because “any idiot with a first aid kit can nurse”, and he doesn’t like moving towards the fighting any more than the next guy. They’ve already had casualties, and… he doesn’t want more of them, definitely doesn’t want to have to fight himself.. And he’s not looking forward to being  _ guarded _ .

  
  


 

    “Doctor Culber?”

    “What is it?” Hugh snaps without turning around. Heaven knows how any person is supposed to wrangle the detronomizer’s wires into something resembling order and travelability.

    “Paige and DeMoners, sir, here to help you load up the truck.”

    “Sorry. Yeah, go ahead. Take the spectral ray unit first, and then all the cots. 19-1026-71, help them, will you?”

    “No.”

Hugh turns around and glares at the pale android. “That wasn’t a question.”

    “I’m here to ‘protect you’,” he says, the quotation marks hanging sharply in the air. “Not to be your personal errand boy.”

    “Fine, be like that.” Having the android hang around will be a hell of its own, Hugh’s already sure.

  
  


 

The truck has already been driven up as close as possible to the makeshift hospital. If you could even call it that. Four walls and a roof of tarp with more or less flat dirt don’t precisely make anything better than a makeshift healing station straight from a cheesy fantasy rpg. Maybe they’re moving something nicer, where there’s a real floor and walls and a roof and you don’t wake up damp with dew. 

_ Blergh _ . 

It’s turning to this planet’s version of spring, temperatures getting bearable again, and Hugh is looking forward to waking up and not freezing and damp.

Of course, they’re moving to Isthmus, surrounded by sea from both sides, and the wind will be cutting with the few miles of land to howl over.

Paige and DeMoners are good people, both of them with some experience regarding loading Hugh’s equipment, so he leaves them to it and goes to pack the drugs instead. They’re running low on almost everything. Hopefully the supplies will reach them at Isthmus too, otherwise they’ll have a problem mighty fast. None of the soldiers will appreciate being operated on with only a shot of piritramid.

The android’s presence is still stark at Hugh’s back. Better get used to that, he tells himself. One of the good things about androids is that they never get tired and never get bored, which is the worst thing now, because 19-10-whatever is going to be standing within two meters from Hugh for the rest of his life, probably.

Not to mention that the rest of his life will be pretty damn short now that they’re moving to Isthmus.

He slams the drug cabinet shut, close to starting to mutter under his breath in annoyance.

  
  


 

The floodlights blast on just as Hugh tosses his duffel bag into the front of the truck. He takes a moment to squint and let his eyes adjust to the light, observing the camp. It’s breaking up nicely, Lorca managing to retain an impressive amount of order, considering how they’ve been at war and camped out for the better part of the year. No hot showers, sometimes weeks without hot food, nothing but ration bars, and then, more recently, through the entire winter they slept in tents, and not even good tents, more like a layer of tarp between you and the stars, but with plenty of space for cold to seep through the ground and the slits between ground and fabric. Hugh’s had to treat a lot of cases of hypothermia. When it got really bad, when they were marching through several feet of snow on their way to the latrines, they’d spend the night in the trucks, keeping them running in hopes of being somehow saved by the engine warmth. Twelve men per container, two square meters per person. At least they stayed warm.

Would 19-1026-71 be warm to cuddle up against? How humanly is he programmed? Would he wrap his arms around Hugh?

Fuck. So he’s lonely enough to want to fuck a bot. Yikes. Not a depth of depravity he ever thought he’d find himself in. Oh, sure, it’s natural to desire a human touch every now and then, and in another life, almost another universe, months and months ago, before he came to this hell of a planet, he’d had a fairly active sexlife, and apparently it needed precisely one pretty blond to remind him of that. Few things are as unattractive as fucking a bot.

Man, hopefully the next camp will let him have a hot shower.

    “Doctor Culbeeeeer,” someone squeals from his left, and then he’s enveloped in a hug that’s fifty percent unbridled enthusiasm at everything in life and fifty percent wild red hair. Tilly squeezes him hard enough to choke the air out of his lungs, even lifting him a little.

    “We’re going to Isthmus!” she exclaims once she lets go of Hugh. “I am  _ so  _ excited. I hear we’re going to have buildings, and there’ll be a desulphurizer so we can actually use the seawater and have like a ton of showers, and there are a  _ huge _ amount of wrecks from all kinds of companies and groups and species in the area, so we’ll learn so much and probably find some new technologies, and we’ll never run out of materials, and if we do everything right, we might even be able to break into the Klingons’ P8 facility, which is literally  _ right there _ , and just think about the opportunities that’ll give us! We might finally be able to analyze their power source and build a specially fashioned EMP to knock out their weapons.  _ And _ we’ll -”

    “Tilly,” Hugh interrupts her, touching her elbow gently. “We’re moving right onto Isthmus.”

    “Oh, I know! That’s why I’m so excited!”

    “If they break the Isthmus off on our side, or if a natural disaster happens, we’re stuck there. If we get attacked, we can only go one direction. We’ll be at the mercy of the elements, we’ll be in an incredibly difficult supply situation, and if somehow none of that kills us, then the Klingons will. There are a couple hundred of them all within a day of Isthmus, and there’s barely a hundred of us.”

    “Well, sure, but we’re better. Come on, Hugh, be a little positive! Movement is good! And did you hear what I said about showers? It’s going to be great!”

Hugh shakes his head and sighs, trying to hide the little smile that’s sneaking onto his lips. Tilly, always so enthusiastic. She could probably die in an explosion from her workshop and her ghost would come back and be even more cheerful.

    “Don’t you have a truck to drive?”

    “Oh, Airiam owes me, so I’m going to ride with you and your new friend!” She turns to the android. “Hi! I’m Tilly, call me Tilly, it’s better than my first name.”

19-1026-71 ignores her stretched out hand just as much as he ignored Hugh’s and stares at something to the right.

    “Don’t mind him. Too much cooling liquid, and now he’s frigid like all our toes this winter,” Hugh quips. He doesn’t like rude people. Hates them with a passion, really, but this war is turning him sour, more sour than he’d like. Also, the bot is an asshole. Serves him right.

    “Bad day much, Hugh? But oh my god, an android! I haven’t seen one as sophisticated as you for ages! What model are you? You know, if you ever have any problems with, like, anything, just come right to me, I’ll have you fixed up in no time. How’s your charging? Do you have a charger? Do you need one? Syntho-biology or solar? Nuclear? Subatomic? Do you run on - what’s your operating system? Praepos or Age Six or StabLO? When did you run your last malware test?”

19-1026-71 turns his face to her and regards her icily. “None of your business. I’ll manage.”

    “Right, okay, um, if you need anything, just tell me. You’re part of the family now. What’s your name?”

    “19-1026-71.”

    “Oh, that won’t do. You need a proper name. Like I said, you’re part of the family now.”

Sweet Tilly, bless her heart. Hugh has never seen her not try to be everyone’s friend.

    “I’m going to - I’m going to call you, hmm, Lucas? No. Not Sebastian or Chris either. Mmh. Oh! Anthony! That works! You look like an Anthony. Tony for short. I like it.”

    “Well, I don’t,” not-Anthony snaps.

Tilly closes her mouth and swallows. “Okay. Sorry. 19-1026-71 it is, then. Can I call you 19 for short?”

    “No.”

    “Right. Um. Hugh! I’m going to go grab my bag, and then I think we’re ready to go, right?” The sweetness in her voice is strained.

    “Sure.” Ugh, this is awkward.

    “Right.” Tilly smiles uncomfortably for another second before she bounds off again.

Hugh turns to the android. “Could you at least pretend to be a little civil? Nobody likes being here, you don’t have to make it harder on all of us.”

19-1026-71 doesn’t even blink.

    “Look. Maybe we got off on the wrong foot,” Hugh tries. “My name’s Hugh, my favorite color is burgundy, my birthday is the 27th of December, my favorite animals are dogs, I went to med school in New York City.”

    “I don’t care,” 19-1026-71 snaps. “I’m not here to be your emotional support buddy, I’m here because I’m not human and apparently that makes me your slave.”

    “I - no, I don’t - you’re not my slave,” Hugh stutters.

The android rolls his eyes. “Don’t worry, I know I’m a second class citizen. Don’t even pretend you’ll treat me like a person, that’s just insulting. No need to get yourself down on my level.”

    “Why do you have to  make this so difficult?”

19-1026-71 doesn’t respond.

    “Right. Whatever. Let’s get rolling.”

Hugh walks around the truck and pulls himself in. The truck is in good shape too. Say about Lorca and his methods what you want, but the discipline and upkeep of the squadron is unparalleled.

The android gets in from the other side, sitting as far away from Hugh as possible, back ramrod straight and hands on his thighs, staring out the front.

Tilly opens the door just moments later, nudging 19-1026-71.

    “Come on, scoot over!”

Hugh kicks the truck to roaring life and into gear while the android slowly gives up one inch of seat after another, until he’s pressed thigh to thigh with Hugh on the one side and Tilly on the other.

The radio clicks on and each truck begins reporting in and the convoy slowly rolls into motion.

    “Aaah.” Tilly stretches. “Oh man, I’m  _ so  _ happy to leave this place. Worst camp ever!”

    “You really think we’ll have hot showers in the next place? Because… I doubt it.”

    “Well. Michael said that Saru strongly hinted at that, that we’d have a desulphurizer, and then I really don’t see why we shouldn’t.”

The truck swings a little. Hugh switches on the headlights. They've got a three day journey ahead of them, crossing most of Alterra's mid-northern plains tonight, and then the canyon-land tomorrow. They'll sleep in the truck, eat in the truck, go to the bathroom in the truck, and then hopefully they'll reach Isthmus around noon on the third day, get set up and get the showers running. Hugh isn't looking forward to any of that (except maybe the showers), but then again, he hasn't looked forward to anything for a long time. Sometime in the past he used to love life. Whatever happened to that?

    "So, Hugh, tell me. Why do you get an android? I didn't know you were Lorca's favorite  _ that  _ much."

Hugh can't help but chuckle. Nobody is Lorca's favorite. Lorca doesn't like  _ anyone _ . He hates some people less than others, but that's about it.

    "I'm not his favorite. I'm just the one guy between him and dead soldiers, and considering how dead set he is on winning the war on his own, well, it makes me kind of important. So, I got a personal bodyguard, to protect me from evil. Apparently I'm worth it."

    "Gotta say, I'm a little jealous. I mean - a real M7G! That's amazing! Seriously." She turns to 19-1026-71. "You are literally the coolest thing I've ever met, oh my god. So sophisticated. I mean - you look just like a human, you've got almost real skin, from what I hear you even have a digestive system, body heat, and you sound so human, too! And then the synthetic soul thing - I never got to really look into that during my time at MIT, but it's so fascinating. You see, you've got the -"

Tilly is in full rambling mode. She's a precious kid who lacks a little in tact and hell, 19-1026-71 is probably close to absolutely murdering her. She called him a thing. He probably does not like that at all.

Hugh rubs his wrist over the steering wheel and stares outside, Tilly's speech becoming one with the truck's engine. The backlights of the truck in front of him shine through the upcoming mist. Hugh can feel himself getting sleepy. In another time, when he'd drive home after a long shift, maybe even a double shift, and it was dark outside and there were few cars out, he'd turn on the radio, sing along a little, something to keep him occupied. There are no radio stations on Alterra. There's no indigenous population here either, just a handful of warring factions and plant life, a few animals, freezing cold nights even in summer, and three beautiful orbiters, a lot bigger than Earth's moon. It would make for such a marvelous holiday destination.

    "Hugh, I'm going to catch a few hours of sleep. You wake me at midnight or something, and I'll drive, okay?" Tilly interrupts his thoughts.

    "Sure." If he's honest, he's happy she's going to sleep. He isn't in a social mood today.

  
  


 

They drive on in the relative silence of a tetra-boosted machine, the forest becoming deeper and deeper, the supply trail they're following getting worse and worse, low branches and vines hitting the truck every other meter. It's nothing these monsters can't handle - Hugh has seen them work through more than a meter of mud while on fire, seen them climb a 20% incline and master massive boulder heaps. There's next to nothing that can kill these trucks and they've proven to be absolutely invaluable, like horses of old.

19-1026-71 is completely unmoving next to him, like a slab of humanoid stone. He probably doesn't want to be here either, Hugh thinks. What almost-human would? It's true, they are second class citizens, owned by corporations, living in massive charging halls ... if you could call it living. He's seen a documentary once, and it wasn't particularly nice. 

It's rare to see an almost-human off Earth, though. There are a few that serve on spaceships, but most never leave Earth. Maybe it depends on the company that owns you. Since they're essentially machines, they don't have rights. And... it's likely 19-1026-71 has never been as free as he is now.

Hugh quenches the pity that's trying to rear up in his stomach. It's doubtful the android would appreciate that.

  
  


 

The forest clears as quickly as it got thick, and at just a few hours before midnight, they've truly reached the plains, all salty, cracked ground, and nothing to see for kilometers and kilometers except a few sparse, thorny bushes fighting the elements. 

    "How far does this go?" 19-1026-71 asks suddenly, still sitting as stiffly as before.

Hugh shrugs. "Nine hundred, maybe a thousand kilometers in every direction, I think. Alterra is almost four times the size of the Earth, so that's not really that much. This whole planet, it's... massive."

19-1026-71 nods.

    "So, um." Hugh is determined to try out smalltalk again. "What did you do, before coming here, I mean?"

The android doesn't reply for almost a minute or so. When he does, his voice is frosty again. "None of your business."

    "Right. Sorry."

They travel in silence. The ride is smooth and it's just straight ahead, which gives Hugh time to marvel at the vast blackness above them. The stars are blinking into existence and the three moons glow with a beautiful palette of colors. Say what you want about Alterra, but it is incredibly beautiful. Romantic, even.

Hugh's heart hurts for a time without war. It's so easy to forget when there's nobody lying on his table, dying, when there no troops heading out, unsure whether they'll be back, the tight smiles of their comrades seeing them off, and right now, faced with the beauty of nature, Hugh can barely believe it, but they are at war, and he's driving a truck for which he has no license, because they all have to pull their weight here.

It's still marvellous. 

Hugh risks a glance at the blond next to him. This drive is probably one of the most romantic things he's ever done, but... well, not with the right person, obviously. Aesthetically, 19-1026-71 is very much Hugh's type - about his height, blonde, very nicely light skin, light eyes, not too full lips, a nice voice, looks cuddly.

He sighs and looks back out front again. When he became a doctor, he wanted to work with people, cure them, see them get better. This is... something else. 

  
  


 

The funny thing is, driving the way they are now, with no road, no other traffic, nothing but the plains in front of them, it wouldn't even matter if Hugh fell asleep. The plains will take them some eight, maybe nine hours, depending on how fast the convoy continues to go and what problems they might encounter. Eight or nine hours of going absolutely straight, the scenery never changing, your foot cramping on the gas pedal. Hugh has been to the edges of Isthmus before, only one time, but he knows how mind-numbing the journey is.

Man, he wishes they had music.

  
  


 

He starts humming to himself eventually, a half forgotten opera while the stars blink above. The radio is silent - Lorca doesn't approve of unnecessary chatter on open comms.

    "Is the humming really necessary?" 19-1026-71 asks icily.

Hugh sighs. What is that android's problem? 

    "Look, I'm driving at exactly the same speed through exactly the same scenery with absolutely nothing changing, and I've been doing this for _ hours _ . I gotta do something to keep from falling asleep."

He doesn't get a reply. Figures. 

  
  


 

The first time he nods off, he wakes with a sudden start, heart pounding, looking around wildly. His foot had pressed down, but the increase in speed is marginal. 

Still, Lorca radios in: "Medical, please keep your assigned speed."

    "Yes, sir," Hugh replies, heart still beating in his chest. He was gone for just a second or two, fatal, should it happen to him in traffic, but out here, it doesn't matter. 

The sky is still dark and sparkling with stars. The plains are still plain. The trucks in front of him are still the ever-same distance.

  
  


 

The second time, he stays under for longer, until 19-1026-71 elbows him awake rudely.

    "Wake up!"

Hugh starts again, struggling to keep his eyes open.

    "Don't fall asleep. I'd prefer not to die today," 19-1026-71 says.

Hugh rubs a weary hand over his face.

    "Sorry," he replies and tries to blink a couple times in rapid succession. Maybe that'll help him keep his eyes open. "Hey, pass me the water bottle over there?"

The android stares at him, and then at the bottle. Hugh doesn't need to look to know he's being glared at. 

    "Please?"

19-1026-71 gets it and hands it over to Hugh, making his displeasure obvious by the way he pulls away his fingertips from accidentally touching Hugh.

    "Thank you." Hey, Hugh's mom didn't raise her son without manners.

The silence that follows is decidedly uncomfortable. Hugh puts the bottle back into the holder on his door.

There'll be three days of this. Three days of sitting squished next to the android, three days of enduring either his cold silence or his cutting remarks. Three days of falling asleep next to him, of waking up next to him. 

Hugh can't wait to get to Isthmus.

  
  


 

He doesn't fall asleep again. He won't, he vows. There's no need to take another elbow to the ribs.

  
  


 

    "... sleeping?" Tilly's voice filters into his mind. "Hugh! Hey! Wake up!"

There's the elbow again, this time failing to properly shock Hugh out of his sleep.

    "Sorry," he mutters automatically.

    "That's the third time," 19-1026-71 says pointedly.

    "Geez, Hugh! What, didn't get enough sleep last night?"

    "Or ever," Hugh quips. "I'm sorry, I'll try not to fall asleep again."

    "Or we switch," Tilly suggests. She leans against 19-1026-71 to squint at the dashboard. "Oh my god, it's almost two AM! We gotta switch! You did almost the entire plains yourself, you crazy idiot."

    "Tilly, don't worry. I'm good."

    "No, you're not good. Come on. Stop the car, let's switch and you catch some sleep. Don't make me radio the captain."

Hugh almost chuckles at that. Tilly is brilliant, Tilly is a fantastic engineer, Tilly is the entire package of smart-funny-witty, yet human and awkward, that make her so good at befriending people, Tilly doesn't take no for an answer. There's nothing she's scared of, no mountain she can't climb barefoot with only her enthusiasm and optimism. Tilly is also deathly afraid of the captain. She's a completely different person if Lorca talks to her. 

Which is a little ridiculous because while Lorca certainly isn't the epitome of a good person, he's not evil either. 

But Tilly radioing him? Not going to happen.

Still, Hugh sets his 'driver change' signal to the other trucks and pulls to the side a little so that the others can pass him.

The machine comes to a stop and suddenly they're enveloped in blissful silence. That is, until Hugh kicks open his door and Tilly hers and the noise of the convoy fills the driver's cab. 

Hugh jumps down from the truck and groans, stretching his legs out a little. Man, that feels good. 

The engine is ticking away, probably dispensing heat, but Alterra's nights are freezing, all of them, and so the excess heat doesn't reach Hugh where he's standing two meters from the engine.

He takes a moment to look around, crane his head to see the stars while he's crossing in the front.

    "Beautiful, isn't it?" Tilly asks him with a bright smile. "Imagine we weren't at war. Imagine we were just taking a roadtrip, and we could camp out here for the night. See the sunrise. That would be so nice. I'd cuddle up with Michael, you cuddle up with Anthony."

Hugh chuckles. "I don't think I want that. Something tells me he'd cut my balls off and feed them to me if I tried cuddling."

Tilly giggles and nudges him with her shoulder. "He's supposed to protect you. He could protect you from the cold, too."

Hugh shoves his hands in his pockets and shivers involuntarily at the mention of the temperatures.

    "Doesn't sound too bad," he admits. "Do you think he'd fall for it?"

    "Ooooh, does that mean what I think it means?"

    "Oh, for - Tilly, no. I don't - I'm not a bot fucker. No. Ew."

    "I think he'll be sad when you call him a bot."

    "Well but - still, no. Come on."

Tilly wraps her arms around herself and shivers. "I also don't know whether cuddling would be enough to ward off the cold. I swear it's colder here."

    "It's the wind."

    "Probably, yeah. Wanna go back inside?"

No, Hugh wants to say. No, he wants to lean against the grill, maybe grab a blanket, and stare at the stars and at the endless view in front of them. There's 19-1026-71 inside, there's a radio with Captain Lorca on it inside, there's duties and camo duffels and a set destination inside, and it doesn't let you breathe. What wouldn't he give for a brief day of respite.

But instead of that he says, "We probably should." and that's the end of that. Tilly slaps his shoulder comradely and they pass each other, climbing back into the truck again from the other side.

The truck is warm and Hugh gladly slams the door shut.

19-1026-71 hasn't budged an inch, and he doesn't even blink as they get back in and Tilly starts the truck back up.

    "Brr! Man, it's cold out there!” Tilly exclaims. “19-1026-71, you definitely made the right choice with staying in here.”

She taps around on the dashboard, steering without checking where she's going, somehow magically managing to fall right in line with the convoy again.

The heating springs back to life immediately and Hugh is toasty within mere moments, and with the heat he's getting drowsy again. He searches blindly for his duffel and pulls out a shirt that's hopefully not too dirty to use as a makeshift pillow against the window, and then he's out like a light.


	2. II.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for hugh being an _idiot_ who is definitely not interested in 19-1026-71 at all.  
>  also kudos if anyone can tell me where i stole the planet this is all happening on from :DD

It's the truck stopping that wakes him. He's warm and has a crick in his neck and side, a decidedly uncomfortable pressure in his bladder, and he can't feel his left foot. Whatever he's got his head on smells nice though, and Hugh is sorely tempted to stay here for a small eternity.

    "Since you're awake now, you could take your head away from my shoulder," 19-1026-71 gripes and Hugh sighs. Of course. Figures that his sleeping body has to betray him like that. Sure, if stuck choosing between a window and an asshole android, the android is at least warm, so props to sleep-him for choosing that.

Hugh sits up slowly, trying to stretch himself in the other direction, bones cracking, muscles flexing painfully. 

    "Where are we?" he asks.

    "Just leaving the plains," Tilly replies, stretching as well. "I radioed that we'd take a quick breather, get some breakfast, stretch our legs."

The scenery has changed to a pretty nicely green area, lush plants and high grass. It's not too bad, really. Hugh jumps out of the truck and groans a little at the stretch in his legs, almost stumbling because his foot isn't quite back on track yet. He stretches in all directions, relishing in it a little. Tilly does the same, wearing a blissed-out expression. 

    "Hey, doc. Aren't those seats probably ergonomically bad and therefore a hazard in the workspace?"

Hugh chuckles. "Yeah, we should sue the Corp. Might get us a ton more credits than this whole thing here. And then we buy both the Corp and the Klingons and live on Alterra and everything's beautiful." His voice grows suddenly wistful and there's that ache in his chest again, the one that's been there ever since he arrived in the gritty reality of war.

    "You're such a pacifist," she teases, but there's something in her voice, too.

    "It's every doctor's dream to be out of a job, Tilly. That would be - that would be perfect. Which is weird, but it's the nicest thought I've ever had."

    "Mhm." She nods, pulling a face. "You need to get laid. Get some other nice thoughts."

    "Is that how you approached Michael?"

Tilly laughs and starts to bounce around in high knee skips, flapping her arms in a comical imitation of either a dance or a bird, sending the dew from the grass flying around her.

Hugh starts to walk around a little as well, properly stretching his legs. He's still a little embarrassed he turned to sleep on 19-1026-71's shoulder, and he fears that that probably didn't improve his already strained relationship with the android. It's fucking stupid. Hugh is good with people, manages to get along with most of them just fine, even if sometimes the start is rough. But 19-1026-71 seems dead set on hating Hugh's guts, and, if he's honest, he doesn't understand why. 

The M7G model has been discontinued after only a few dozen of them ever produced. Too volatile, too aggressive, too troublesome to keep around, a science experiment gone wrong. They were created and scrapped before most of the public really took notice. Hugh had taken a passing interest because of the psychological implications of the synthetic soul, but then he'd forgotten too.

He's worked alongside androids before, which isn't too bad. But 19-1026-71 isn't like them, in a way that's really unsettling. He's so deceptively  _ human _ that for the first time, Hugh actually thinks about how they treat his kind. It's essentially slavery, which is an unsettling thought, that humankind has still not left that behind.

And then - this is probably the biggest freedom 19-1026-71 has ever known, and that's sickening. Because they are in the middle of a war, he's forced to protect a complete stranger simply due to what he does, and then he's ferried across a completely different planet.

    "Ohhh, Hugh, what's with the thinking face again?" Tilly pops up at his side, cheeks flushed with the slight exertion and the cold air.

    "Do you think Lorca called Earth to get them to send him to us?" Hugh asks her, nodding in the direction of the truck with the still-seated android.

    "Why does it matter? Maybe every doctor gets a protection unit."

    "Why him? He doesn't look like a soldier unit. He isn't even really an android! What is he doing here, Tilly?"

    "Maybe they didn't have any others left."

    "Really? On all of Earth, not a single other android left, no possibility to build one? And - I thought the M7Gs were destroyed. What is he doing here?"

She shakes her head. "They weren't destroyed. They can't be, because the whole synthetic soul thing means that ending their existence would be murder, which is, you know, kind of illegal. But no, you're definitely right. It's weird."

Hugh looks at the truck again. The sun is reflecting off the windscreen, so they can't see the android inside, but it's unlikely that he got out, considering his general persnicketiness.

    "Also, if I'm being honest - I'm not looking forward to him following me around in the slightest. Feels like... feels like prison, to me. I mean what, is he going to stand next to my bed while I sleep, help me shower and bend over an open chest cavity in surgery? I don't want to be - followed, least of all by -"

    "A machine?" 19-1026-71 cuts in. He's standing only a few meters from them. He must've snuck close without them noticing.

    "Did nobody ever tell you eavesdropping is rude?" Hugh asks, guilt curdling in his stomach. 

    "Did nobody ever tell you not to talk about other people behind their backs?" 19-1026-71 asks back, sneering. 

    "I'm sorry," Hugh tries, though his heart isn't entirely in it. A very petty part of him wants to blame the android for this entire situation, and he's dismayed to feel that part winning out. "What are you doing here?" he asks, instead of making an unkind remark.

    "None of your fucking business," 19-1026-71 replies. "Now can we get back to driving so we get to the fight more quickly, so you'll be dead more quickly and I can go back to -" He swallows suddenly and stares away, clearly stuck thinking about something. "- to before," he finishes lamely.

Tilly is wringing her hands uncomfortably. She doesn't like conflict.

Hugh isn't having that shit. The petty part of him just won with that sentence. It's something o'clock, he didn't sleep well, he's moving into a war for fuck's sake and now he's got the world's bitchiest android on him, pissed for no reason other than Hugh's existence.

    "You know what? If you don't like it, leave. Go. Somewhere else. I don't have to put up with your shit, and you can go grab the next shuttle home. Whatever the fuck your problem is, I don't care. I didn't do anything to you, and you're here to do a job, or you can fuck off. So either shut it, or get lost."

19-1026-71 swallows and clenches his jaw, suddenly looking vulnerable and oddly small. The silence is so thick you could cut it, and the few animals that are making sounds sound very much like awkward crickets chirping.

Tilly's eyes are closed like she's in pain. "Breakfast?" she asks with more than just a hint of desperation.

    "Sure," Hugh replies easily, shouldering past the android. 

Tilly follows him gladly.

They've got nothing but ration bars loaded, of course. Amazing. Great. Fantastic.

    "So, uh, 19-1026-71," Tilly begins, voice shaking just a little. "How do you... get your energy? Do you need to eat?"

Hugh purposefully keeps his back to the android, lest he have another outburst. He's never considered himself a particularly choleric person, but the damn bot is testing him. 

    "I am... able to ingest organic substances." 

He even  _ sounds _ so robotic.

    "Would you like some? It's not the tastiest food by a long stretch, but it's all we've got at the moment," Tilly offers.

Judging by the crinkling of wrapper, the android accepts. 

Hugh takes a bite from his own bar. Yeah, the flavor is still as boring as he remembers it to be from their last long trip: dusty granola bar made from wood shavings with a whiff of vitamin supplement powder, each bar perfectly engineered to have 500 calories and something like a quarter of all necessary nutrients to make sure you can survive adequately.

Oh, what wouldn't he give for one his mother's quesadillas with homemade guacamole.

His mouth waters and he sighs. 

They've got to get going again soon, so he starts a quick walk around the truck, checking for any obvious damages or things in need of fixing. Judging by the footsteps in the grass behind him, he's being followed by both Tilly and the android, who are both mercifully staying quiet. A testament to his bad mood, no doubt.

There's nothing, of course. Their trip over the plains was absolutely smooth sailing, especially with a truck like this.

And now they've got to get going. No stalling.

    "I'll drive," he calls over his shoulder to Tilly and climbs into the driver's cab, leaving the door open for a bit longer to get some fresh air in while he looks over the map. They'll still be going straight forward for a good while, basically following the tracks of the rest of the convoy that's probably splintered apart by now. The good thing is that they decidedly won't be attacked, because Isthmus, which is still almost two days away, is the only connection between the two major landmasses for miles, and it would be suicide to try to cross over by plane and miles into Federation territory. They'll only reconvene with the convoy shortly before the mountains end.

    "Don't be too angry with him," Tilly says in a low voice, almost escaping Hugh's hearing range. "He's - he isn't happy at the moment. I'm sure he didn't mean it like that. And I'm sure you'll learn how to get along nicely!"

    "I sincerely doubt that," 19-1026-71 answers with a hint of bitterness. "I don't want to be here either. Am I happy? No. But does anyone care about that? Also no. And excuse me for having feelings about someone talking about me like that behind my back."

    "I know," Tilly says softly. "I'm really sorry. I hope we can get along better."

The android scoffs. "Let's just keep driving."

  
  


And they do. The lush greenness continues for a long while, slowly turning into swamp, and they've got their windows down. Tilly alternates between napping and chatting. Things could be worse, honestly, Hugh decides. And then he has to diagnose himself with mood swings, because the snappish remark he makes towards an equally charged sentence from 19-1026-71 doesn't sound like it was said by a happy man.

  
  


Rain hits and they have to close the windows again while the world is being dipped into grey mist. The headlights don't do much, so Hugh has to navigate via the board computer's map, hitting just about everything in his path.

    "You know, if your goal is total destruction of the local ecosystem so there are less species preventing humankind from dominating this planet, I think you're doing an amazing job. Maybe you should retrain to become an exterminator," the android comments scathingly.

    "You can walk," Hugh offers.

A loud thud, the truck jumps a little and Alterra probably has one tree less.

    "It's not like I can see in this fog."

    "Your inferiority is hardly the local flora and fauna's fault."

Hugh hits the brakes hard and turns to 19-1026-71.

    "You can walk."

Those light blue eyes are filled to the brim with contempt.

    "Hardly."

    "Then go. Start some kind of 'new life' here. I'll tell Lorca you just ran off in the night. Not like he'll care," Hugh says. "Nobody is keeping you here."

    "My sense of duty is keeping me here. I know you probably can't relate to something like that, though, so I won't trouble myself with explaining it."

Hugh opens his mouth to reply whatever horrible thing comes to his mind first, but Tilly interrupts them.

    "Okay, guys, this is getting unbearable. Come on, we're supposed to be a team. I'm - I'm not particularly good at these things, and I don't like people fighting, but - so -  _ please _ , just make up, okay? Please be a little nicer to each other. Maybe just say what's bothering you out loud, and then we'll take a fresh start, okay? Please."

Both the men look at her. Tilly is clearly upset, playing with the hem of her uniform sleeve, which is an obvious tell. 

    "Just take a breather, be honest with each other for a second, and then we'll move on. I mean - look, you'll have to spend an awful long time together, and I don't want you to hate each other." She bites her lip. "Please."

To everyone's surprise, it's 19-1026-71 who speaks up first.

    "Okay. I don't want any part in this war, I don't want to be anyone's slave, I don't want to fight, I don't want to have to protect anyone, and I don't want to - to just be  _ shoved _ at people. Maybe it's a fault in my programming, but my social skills aren't particularly well developed. And I - I'm scared of the war. I'm scared of the Klingons. I wish I didn't know any of this." It's obvious there's a lot he isn't saying, but what he does say is honest.

And it hits Hugh somewhere very close to home.

    "I get how you feel," he says, surprising everyone (most of all himself). "I - I feel the same way. I'm terrified. I don't want to fight either. I don't want more people dying on my table. I want to go home, hug my mom, have my job be normal again. And... I don't like the idea of being protected. I don't like - I don't like feeling like I'm not allowed to be on my own, or... being followed around. That kind of stuff. Not looking forward to it. And I feel like... like this is going to end badly. For - for all of us."

19-1026-71 nods. "I don't want to go back to Earth," he offers. "There's nothing there for me."

    "I _ dream _ of going back to Earth," Hugh admits.

They sit in silence for a few long moments.

    "See, that wasn't so bad, was it?" Tilly's voice is only barely shaking. "Now, you're going to keep being nice to each other, okay?"

Neither of the men responds.

  
  


The fog lifts eventually, offering them a beautiful view of the grasslands, with a multitude of small lakes stretching out from right in front of them to the horizon. Hugh steers the truck down a small ravine easily and their journey goes on, this time through more watery territory.

  
  


Tilly alternates between naps and staring out of the window. Hugh and the android stay quiet. It's almost as though they've revealed too much of themselves and are now feeling bashful.

  
  


They do another driver switch sometime around late afternoon, when the sun has already risen high above the bogland they're in now and is sinking again, sending an orange glow over everything. It's a little hard to believe that in only a few short hours they'll arrive at the outskirts of one of Alterra's vast mountain ranges, because they are completely invisible to the untrained eye now.

  
  


The mountains are drowning in the blood red of a particularly spectacular sunset, the slightly reflective stone turning it into an incredible lightshow.

    "Sorry, guys, I gotta switch on the shade," Tilly calls out, flipping a switch to turn the windscreen darker. Probably a good call, because it is incredibly taxing to look at the mountains for longer. Feels a bit like the back of your eyes start to boil if you do that.

    "Is there a road to follow?" 19-1026-71 asks.

Tilly shrugs. "Not really. There's a relatively stable path-esque thing, but other than that ... not really. We'll have to take our chances."

    "Why does nobody build a road then? It's far too dangerous to drive through any mountains without a proper path to drive on!"

    "It's war," Hugh answers. "If - if the entire squadron dies trying to cross this range, they'll just send more. It's cheaper than building a track through here."

    "That's horrible. To think that your own kind cares so little about itself."

    "Not to mention other... peoples?" There's a hint of an edge in Hugh's voice.

Tilly sighs.

    "Oh, yes, that too. How do you treat Klingon prisoners? Do you even take prisoners?" the android asks back.

    "We... do, yes."

    "And?" He turns to scrutinize Hugh with his too-bright eyes.

    "We're not barbarians," Tilly says softly, without taking her eyes from the nonexistent road in front of them.

    "We - we certainly don't let them live in luxury, but... we don't often resort to torture, either," Hugh says.

19-1026-71 stares back out the front again. "Must be nice. To have that much faith in others."

    "What's that supposed to mean?"

    "Well, I'm sure that if you get captured, you'll expect the Klingons to treat you acceptably as well."

    "And?"

The android shrugs. "Nothing. Don't - don't worry about it."

    "Is it because..." Hugh doesn't really know how to say this. "... because of how we treat your kind?"

    "You wouldn't understand it."

    "If it helps - I don't think it's right, either."

    "Moral superiority must feel nice too." There's that disdain back in his voice.

    "I'm sorry," Hugh tries.

    "No, you're not. You wouldn't understand it, anyways."

    "Humans used to treat each other badly."

    "‘Used to'?"

    "Well - we've got better laws now."

    "If you need laws to be decent to each other, then maybe there's something fundamentally wrong with your species."

    "There are always black sheep. That's who the laws are for."

19-1026-71 snorts derisively. "There seem to be a lot of those black sheep, then."

    "We're not perfect. That's what makes us human," Hugh replies. 

    "Oh, please," 19-1026-71 scoffs. "Not being perfect means not everyone being a good artist, and some people being petty, and others not being a morning person. It doesn't mean being violent towards others."

    "We're trying our best."

    "Ever think that that's maybe not good enough?"

Hugh swallows uneasily. "It's all we can do, isn't it?"

19-1026-71 doesn't reply.

  
  


They reach the mountains with the last glimmer of sunlight. Tilly switches on the entire light rigging, illuminating the path in front of them mercilessly bright. The tracks from the rest of the convoy are still starkly visible, like a small path of destruction.

19-1026-71 doesn't comment.

  
  


They drive on, still not talking. Hugh feels the dread at being at the mountains seep into him. They're towering over their comparatively little truck, and while right now they're still driving on the ground, they'll eventually climb higher, drive precisely next to steep ledges and high falls. Hugh likes neither heights nor small spaces, and these mountains seem engineered to freak him out both ways.

Tilly is an excellent driver; handling machines seems to be her first nature and she's only human second, but eventually Hugh will have to take over, and he doesn't like thinking about it. There's nothing as terrifying as looking out your window to see a several thousand meter drop centimeters from your industrial over-sized wheels. At least the mountains are a lot less likely to fall down on them; the indigenous rock almost never gives way to avalanches. But gravity is still a very real concept.

The image of another of their trucks, lying broken and mangled and burning a little, shows up uninvited, and Hugh's stomach clenches. He hates disaster - he'd specialized in paediatrics, not emergency medicine, for fuck's sake - and while he can deal with small disasters, one or two people, where he can immediately help, he hates the aftermath of disaster even more and can decidedly not deal with being too late, too slow, could've-helped-but-not-anymore. Like the continuum of time is his personal fault, his personal failure.

God, he hopes the rest of the convoy is alright.

  
  


They switch on one of the plateaus, where there's just enough space for the truck and a few meters of extra space on both sides. Hugh takes a peek down into the abyss and his stomach lurches. It's pitch black, with the barest glimmer of red from the light of the moon, and it gives the mountains an incredibly sinister look, like there's a multi-eyed monster staring up at them, just about to open its jaws.

Which isn't so unlikely, really, Hugh reasons as he's starting the truck up again. While all of Alterra has been formally explored, it's been assumed that less than ten percent of all native species have been found and catalogued. Land dwelling animals, that is, and a few types of fish in the shallows. But Alterra's oceans cover 80% of the planet, so who knows what could lurk there?

Hugh shudders at the thought and tries to think of something other than the lethal drop besides of them and gigantic sea creatures. He doesn't precisely manage to.

  
  


This night he has no problems staying awake, the primal fear at sending the truck tumbling reinforced with each tiny bump as they go over a rock. And - Hugh wouldn't admit it, but he's terrified of the dark. Especially here on Alterra, where you feel like you never know what might be watching.

    "There's no other life form that could be dangerous for you for at least five hundred meters all around," 19-1026-71 breaks the almost comfortable silence.

    "What?"

    "You're scared. Your heartbeat is quick, respiration rate high, you're tense and you keep checking all around. There's nothing here except for us."

    "Maybe I'm terrified of sending this box on wheels off the cliffs with an accidental wrong steering move."

    "You're a doctor, are you not? You should have steady hands."

    "Doctor, but not exactly a surgeon."

    "Well, then we'll have to trust our luck."

And silence again.

Maybe the android is actually trying to make conversation and be nice, but Hugh isn't feeling it, and the odd reassurances only know his guts up further.

    "Let's hope we get through this," he replies eventually.

  
  


It's sometime in the early morning as they come to a gaping chasm with no apparent way over it. The plateau they're on now is bigger than any they've been on so far, a sheer plane jutting right out of the mountain. It doesn't feel entirely right, and Hugh already sees them plummeting to their deaths, wondering idly whether 19-1026-71 would survive the fall or whether he'd land as a mangled heap of metal, OS still running for years and years on end while he's pinned by debris. What a horrifying thought.

    "There's a natural bridge about ... thirty meters from here. It spans all the way to the other side of the chasm," 19-1026-71 points out.

Hugh turns to stare at him. "How do you know that?"

The android shrugs. "I've got - you would probably call it x-ray vision."

    "Really?"

19-1026-71 sighs and rolls his eyes. "Why would I lie about that?"

    "I - that's not what I meant. I just - it's cool. So, uh, where is that bridge exactly?"

    "Can you see the ledge?"

    "No. Hang on, I'll -" Hugh opens the door and makes to step out, but 19-1026-71's arm shoots out to get a painful grip on his. Hugh turns to glare at him, one foot already out of the truck and dangling in the air just above the tire.

    "I wouldn't do that if I were you," the android says with a hint of a sneer. "Unless of course you fancy a three thousand meter drop onto a thin layer of dirt over laxanite rock."

Hugh's stomach drops. He looks out again, at his foot dangling above the precipice and the gaping black below. 19-1026-71's grip is bordering on crushing. The abyss is tugging on his guts. The wind seems to be picking up, freezing cold, sending needles all through Hugh, and the drop is calling to him in a thoroughly terrifying manner. There must be a massive waterfall somewhere close by, roaring with a thousand wordless voices.

    "Doctor Culber?" The android's voice is somewhere far off. The black is beckoning Hugh, wind playing with his pants leg and teasing his skin.

    "Hugh!"

He startles and jerks and almost falls and then 19-1026-71 yanks him back inside the truck, back falling against the android's shoulder. Another gust of wind finds its way inside and Hugh shivers violently.

    "What was  _ that _ about?" The android is sounding... almost upset. His fingers are still wrapped around Hugh's upper arm like a vice.

He moves to close the door, trying to get his breathing under control.

    "I don't know," he mumbles. "Sorry."

    "Are you... alright?"

    "Yeah... yeah, sorry. Thank you."

19-1026-71 slowly loosens his grip, eyeing him warily.

Hugh closes his eyes and takes a moment to close his eyes. Well. No wonder he couldn't see anything out front. There just  _ is _ nothing. And that's a terrifying thought, that they came so close to driving off the cliff.

    "Were you going to say anything about me driving so close to the edge?" It sounds far more ungrateful than he means it.

    "I thought you knew what you were doing," comes the answer. "Seems like I was wrong."

Hugh presses the balls of his thumbs against his eyes, trying to get rid of the image of the yawning abyss. 

    "Oh god," he whispers. The spots where 19-1026-71's fingers dug into his skin and muscle are throbbing painfully. "Maybe we should wait to continue driving until morning."

The android shrugs. "Your call."

Hugh tries to breathe. The only thing worse than his claustrophobia is his acrophobia. He's fine when he flies (usually), and he's fine with small heights, but mountainous heights terrify him to no end. He's never come this close to the exact type of fall he fears though.

  
  


The sun starts shimmering in the distance just a handful of minutes later, and a little under an hour after his almost-fall the place is dipped in the clear yellow of an early morning sun. And true enough there's a thin bridge connecting their plateau to another.

There's also the horrible drop right next to the driver's door. Hugh peers down a little and 19-1026-71 makes a derisive little snort.

    "Why look at it again? You are already terrified."

Tilly chooses that  moment to stretch a little. "Mmh, good morning guys. Where're we?" And then, very softly: "Oooh."

    "Beautiful, isn't it?" Hugh asks quietly.

    "The kind of place where I'd want to camp out under the stars with Michael, just to wake up to that view," Tilly replies, already far too awake for having slept until only moments prior. Like a switch was flicked.

    "Never would've taken you for a romantic," Hugh teases. "Never would've taken Michael for a romantic either."

    "Well... she isn't, not really. But hey, a girl can try. Okay, are we going to go on or what?"

Hugh thinks of the drop and how careful he'll have to maneuver now and nods. 

    "Yeah, sure."

He starts the truck up again and inches back carefully.

    "Hey, uh, 19-1026-71, you'll... tell me if there's - if i'm not going the right way, yeah?"

    "Yes."

  
  


Hugh manages to successfully maneuver the truck onto safe terrain though, and then they approach the makeshift bridge. It looks like a gigantic splinter of the towering mountain behind them that just feel over and bridged the distance between this peak's plateau and the opposing one, and if Hugh is honest, it doesn't look at all stable enough to carry their entire truck.

    "Laxanite has the approximate density of diamond," 19-1026-71 throws in, almost conversationally. "This 'bridge' could easily carry the entire convoy at once."

    "And it's maybe two meters broader than our truck," Hugh replies, the uneasy feeling back in his stomach.

    "Yeah, I don't like this either," Tilly admits. "Do you think the others came this way as well?"

    "Unless we were supposed to stay closer to the ground and I missed an easier path, probably."

    "How do you think they did that?"

    "Well ..." Hugh palms the steering wheel nervously. "I guess ... if you go slowly enough, and if you - if the wind isn't too bad, and it's not slippery, it shouldn't be a problem."

19-1026-71 sighs in annoyance. "Do you want me to drive?"

    "I - yeah, maybe that's a good idea," Hugh says, heart suddenly lighter. "You know how to drive?"

The android shoots him a look. "Of course I do. It's basic programming."

    "Right. Well, I'll ..." Hugh motions to the door and gets out, holding it open for the android. Definitely the oddest thing about him is how deceptively human he looks and behaves. He steps close to Hugh by accident, and their eyes meet for a split second. Hugh's heart skips a beat. He always had a thing for guys with pretty light eyes. 

Except that he isn't a guy and they're not - they're not anything, colleagues maybe, and he's a robot and Hugh should probably -

    "Hugh, are you going to get back in here or are you two going to stand uncomfortably close while I freeze to death in here? The wind is pretty cutting!" Tilly calls out.

Yep, exactly. Standing here and looking at the android is more than a little weird.

19-1026-71's fingers almost touch his as he takes the door from Hugh and Hugh swallows instinctively. He's in perfect range to lean forward and -

He should get back inside. Yeah.

19-1026-71 takes his place next to Hugh and slams the door shut a bit more emphatically than necessary before starting the truck up. There's something weird sitting in the pit of Hugh's stomach, and he doesn't like at all that this day seems to become an emotional whirlpool.

The android drives them towards the makeshift bridge with a weird sort of single minded focus. Hugh decides to watch him instead of the scenery. The first steps onto any freestanding structure are difficult so he likes to concentrate on something else.

He's got a nice nose, Hugh notes. What a weird thing to think about someone, but it's true. Hugh doesn't look for nice noses in his partners, romantic or otherwise, and it's not like he thinks about 19-1026-71 like that, but... his nose is nice. And he's smiling just a little. Oh. That's... that's nice as well.

He's got very pale skin too, and if he were human, you could probably see the veins shine through in some places. If he had veins. Actually... the light just under his jaw is a little difficult, but by the looks of it, there's a shimmer of blue. Hugh has the sudden urge to press his lips against the skin there, a feeling all too similar to the awful need to jump out of the truck earlier, but... better. He tries to remind himself that 19-1026-71 is an android, that he doesn't  _ like _ androids, not like that anyways, that this particular one is rude and snappish and abrasive, and that he has a really nice voice. Hugh would like to hear him sing sometime.

Fuck.

Could he realistically lean over, cross the already small distance between them and kiss just below 19-1026-71's jaw, tug on the skin there a little with his teeth, and move away before the android decides to either flip the truck off the bridge or throw Hugh through the windshield? Probably not.

At least Hugh is, well, something like eighty, maybe ninety percent sure that all those thoughts are directly engineered by his neglected downstairs brain and have absolutely nothing to do with how he really feels. Probably. 

God, he needs to get laid like yesterday. Hopefully the new camp will really have hot showers.

    "Oh, wow, look at that!" Tilly exclaims, pulling Hugh from his thoughts. She's pointing out of the window on her side, and... oh.

The spraying waterfall is massive, roaring, a flood of grey-white-blue waters thundering probably a thousand meters down, the end point lost in the mist the waterfall creates. The sun is allowing three rainbows to spring from the spray, each one stark against this force of nature.

    "Roll down the windows," Hugh says almost unthinkingly, and then the primal roar of the fall fills the driver's cab. It's mesmerizing to watch, wave after wave after wave from the river falling down.

    "That is beautiful." 19-1026-71 sounds a little reverent. "I've never seen anything like this."

    "Me neither." Hugh's heart is suddenly beating hard in his chest, a mixture between fear and exhilaration.

    "Really magnificent," Tilly agrees, a wild smile on her face. "God... do you ever forget how beautiful this place is and then it hits you again?"

    "Yeah..." Hugh breathes. He'd swear he can feel the mist on his face.

    "It's mesmerizing," 19-1026-71 whispers, voice a bit rough. "Like... like you could watch forever." 

He clears his throat suddenly. "We should get going."

They do. 19-1026-71 keeps his eyes ahead while Tilly and Hugh keep on staring.

    "One day," Tilly says dreamily. "One day the war will be over and I'll get a little dirtcar with Michael and we'll explore this entire place, and we'll take so many beautiful pictures, and then we'll show them to our grandchildren someday and they'll be so jealous that they haven't seen this place."

Hugh chuckles. It's a nice thought.

    "Michael is your husband?" 19-1026-71 asks. His voice is a little strained, like he's unsure whether this is what people do to make conversation.

    "Girlfriend, actually," Tilly replies. 

    "Oh."

    "She's the best hand-to-hand combatant _ ever _ . She was on a different squadron first, but they... didn't make it, so now she's with us, and she's honestly the most kickass person on any planet. The Klingons are terrified of her. You'll love her, she's so great!"

    "She sounds a bit intimidating," 19-1026-71 points out. So he really is trying to make conversation, Hugh thinks. Huh.

    "Oh, no, she's fantastic. Sure, she's a little serious and could use some fun, but she's super great. I think you'll like her."

The android nods, still fixating on the bridge. Hugh can't help but stare again. He's squinting a little. It's cute. And it also looks like he's breathing which... would be kind of weird, for an android.

_ It would make it feel even more real _ , a part of him says, and Hugh guiltily pushes that part down as far as it goes. 19-1026-71 is an android, and he's not even Hugh's friend, and they're at war, and there are a thousand reasons for why just thinking about it is stupid.

But still. His lips are ever so slightly pink, and from being gripped by him this morning, Hugh knows that 19-1026-71 seems to have a body heating system, and he kind of wants to know how it would feel, how human everything would be.

  
  


The truck's tires hit the light gravel on the other plateau and it's like a tiny shock to Hugh's brain, tearing him right out of the daydream. 19-1026-71 stops the truck and hops out.

    "Your turn to drive again," he says, holding the door open for Hugh.

Hugh complies. What else can he do? He manages not to stand this close to the android this time, because that would be too weird, and then they're driving again and he has to concentrate on where to go.

    "Wait a second!" Tilly's head pops up from where she'd been immersed in searching for something in her duffel on the truck's floor. "It's my turn to drive! Hugh, turn that truck off and switch with me! You must be so tired, oh my god! I'm so sorry, I almost forgot."

So they switch and Tilly takes off. Hugh isn't tired yet though, but there's nothing really to do here other than staring at 19-1026-71, and he's already done that too much. What he needs to do is get a goddamn grip. And maybe catch a few Z's.

So he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again, thank you guys so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed this chapter too and will stay with the story :3


	3. III.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mentions of injuries, but nothing too explicit
> 
> i hope you like it!

He wakes up to a shocked screech from Tilly that reaches truly opera-worthy heights. There's an accompanying  _ boom! _ and the truck rocks on its wheels.

The plane overhead turns a triumphant curve and lowers down into attack again, this time heading straight onto them, spitting out shot after shot, denting the hood, leaving the edges glowing red. 

Tilly swerves to get away from the fire, but so does the plane, easily.

    "Why are these goddamn things not equipped with a fucking gun!" she yells, ripping the steering wheel around to avoid the next barrage. They're somewhere flat, in a valley between the mountains, and Hugh's thinking faster than his brain can handle, because there has to be a way to get rid of that plane, the markings are obviously Klingon in origin, and what is it even doing so far inlands and so far inside the mountains, how did it find them, and how do they lose it before they all blow up.

Tilly whips around to 19-1026-71. "Do you know how to shoot a gun?"

A sizzle and a  _ whom! _ as a bigger projectile just barely misses them, blasting a sizeable hole in the ground.

The android is wide-eyed.

    "Do you know how to shoot a gun!" Tilly yells again. "There's a bazooka just behind the seats, can you  _ fire _ it?"

    "I can," Hugh's mouth says from far away.

    "Okay, I -" Tilly cusses and swerves away from the next attack. "You've got - I think three shots, Hugh. Make 'em count!"

He twists to get the bazooka from behind the seats, a sleek black monster with a scope and a heavy handle. Not as heavy as his heart feels, but a sizeable chunk of metal. He rolls the window down and aims the weapon.

First, do no harm.

_ Boom! _

Do no harm.

_ Boom! _

No harm.

**_Whom!_ **

The plane fades out of existence in a massive plume of orange-red fire and black smoke, chunks of metal sailing through the air, trailing more smoke.

_ Do no harm. _

The cockpit impacts next to them, the windows blackened. Hugh looks away and returns the bazooka to its previous place. His stomach is rolling like they're at high sea.

Tilly breathes a relieved breath. "Well, that was quick. You're a pretty good shot, Hugh! Never would've thought!"

Hugh looks down at his hands and presses his left thumb into the right palm, making it hurt a little, a phantom of the bazooka's handle. He has sworn an oath, and now he's broken it. Again. When will it end? They might be enemies, but the Klingons deserve to live just as much as humans.

At least the Klingon pilots probably died quickly, and with little pain.

Hugh tries to breathe a little.

The radio clicks on suddenly, Captain Lorca's voice coming through clearly.

    "Medical, how far from rendezvous are you?"

    "Captain!" Tilly's voice is still a little shrill. "We just got attacked by a single Klingon plane, you should watch out -"

    "You got attacked?!"

    "Yes, sir," she squeaks, eyes wide.

Lorca swears and there's some commotion in the transmission.

    "Alright, I'll have people looking out for it. What else can you say about them?"

    "Well... it was only one plane, painted like it was of one of the lesser houses, and it did seem to be acting on its own. It came out of nowhere and started shooting. I - I didn't pick up any attempt at communicating, and... well, it wasn't friendly." 

    "Where is it now?"

    "Hugh - Doctor Culber took it down, sir, with the bazooka."

    "There's a bazooka in - nevermind, I don't want to know. Are the pilots dead?"

Hugh thinks of the impact the cockpit made on the ground, the way the screen was splintered and blackened.

    "Yes," he says.

    "Are you sure?"

    "Nobody could've survived that fall, especially not after that explosion."

    "But you didn't check?"

    "No, um, that would've been redundant and would've slowed us down further," Hugh lies. He doesn't say that he probably couldn't have stood seeing the destruction he wrought up close.

    "Alright. Where are you?"

   "Two hours out, sir, according to the board computer."

    "Make it one and a half, we've got to get a move on. Lorca out."

Hugh snorts a little. "Classic."

    "Ugh, I wish he weren't... you know. Like he is. Scary."

    "He's not that scary. He's - he's human, too."

    "Aaah, yeah, I doubt that to be honest, " Tilly says, but she accelerates again and tries to up their speed. "I really hope we'll make it in that time. I don't want him angry at me."

    "Don't worry about it, Tilly. He'll be happy we're there, and that's going to be the end of it. Well, not happy, but... you know what I mean."

  
  


They drive the last stretch in companionable silence, making good time.

Lorca is in a surprisingly good mood when they arrive, and they fall in line with the convoy again.

    "You know what?" Tilly says, throwing a smile at Hugh and 19-1026-71. "This almost felt like a little vacation, don't you think?"

Hugh twists a little in his seat, backside starting to protest more than he can handle with the almost continuous sitting.

    "I prefer my vacations a little different," he says. But Tilly isn't entirely incorrect. It had felt like a little break, especially after he got on with 19-1026-71 better.

    "Tell me about it. Your ideal holiday," Tilly says.

Hugh chuckles. "Honestly, my ideal holiday at the moment would be living on my parents' couch for a while. Good cooking, it's warm and comfy and they've got showers and I could read in the garden during the day, go for a lot of walks around the town. Yeah, that sounds nice. Have freshly laundered clothing, you know, when it comes straight out of the dryer and it's all warm and fluffy - I'd wear my sweaters day in, day out. My sisters would come to visit and I'd see all the little ones." He smiles wistfully. "Yeah, that's my ideal vacation right now. What about you, Tilly?"

    "So... wait a second. Your ideal vacation would be taking long, romantic walks and probably lots of cuddling and nice food? That's so romantic! How did I never get to see that side of you?"

    "Well, probably because we're each attracted to the gender the other isn't," Hugh suggests. "Also I never said the walks had to be romantic."

    "Oh - I guess, but I'd go on a nice walk with you! Okay, so, I would - I would - oh, I don't even know! I think I'd like to go camping, but I also like those ridiculously over the top wellness vacations, even though they get boring after a while. Hmm. Maybe visit a hot spring?"

    "Hot springs! Oh, sign me right the fuck up," Hugh exclaims. "We went on vacation in Hawaii after I finished med school, and man, it was lovely."

    "Right? Also, if you go with a person you like, you'll get to see them in a little less clothing." Tilly leans forward to look past 19-1026-71 and wink at Hugh. "You know. If you're interested in those kind of things."

    "Certainly not averse," Hugh admits.

    "Most people aren't. What about you, 19-1026-71? Where's your ideal vacation location?"

The android looks at her like she had suggested he eat an entire handful of earthworms. "Vacation? I - I don't go on vacation. I don't  _ get _ vacations. I've never been outside of the Atlanta facility until now. How would I know where I would like to go? Why does it even matter? Dreaming doesn't get you anywhere."

And just like that, the atmosphere is cold again.

    "I'm sorry," Tilly mumbles and looks forward again.

19-1026-71 crosses his arms and glares into the distance. Hugh tries to quench the pity in his heart. So 19-1026-71 has never even been out of the facility he was made in. That's... that's just sad.

Now he's pissed off again. And they've been getting along so nicely.

  
  


The mountains eventually slope down into hills, and then those hills give way as well for a vast stony beach. And behind that, a grey sea, foam cresting on the waves. It's windy and the sea is wild with currents and waves.

Isthmus is right in front of them, stretching almost to the horizon, where just a hint of the second landmass is visible.

    "Wow," Tilly whispers, taking in the slimness of Isthmus. "A tactical nightmare."

Hugh nods. "Yeah. I doubt Saru is enamored with this move."

    "I bet he's terrified. Maybe he even already deserted. I hope not, of course - we're dead without him, but... oh my god."

Oh my god indeed. Isthmus is only about one kilometer wide, which is far slimmer than Hugh remembers, and they'll be exposed from all sides. The waters here might not make for particularly travelable waters, but depending on how desperate the Klingons are or how little they value their people's lives, well.

    "But hey!" Tilly exclaims. "Look, right there in the middle! It looks like a proper camp. With walls! And flooring! Isn't that amazing? Guys? Guys."

    "What is it doing there?" 19-1026-71 asks critically. "Who came here and built this thing in the middle of the isthmus?"

    "Well... our front used to be so much more to the south. Then, a year ago, the Klingons stocked up majorly and were able to drive us back far into the mainland, abandoning the bases we had built here. They didn't follow us because supply lines through the mountains we just came through are a logistic nightmare, but they crept almost up to the shores of the other side. They've got their own set of mountains there too, which makes their supply situation difficult as well, and... well, neither faction will ever really cross to the other side, because nobody is mad enough to build a supply line through two mountain ranges."

    "But then our position here is -"

    "Suicidal, yes," Hugh answers the unspoken question. "Which is why they gave it to us. Lorca is mad enough to think he can hold position here and maybe even advance. Or - I don't know whether it really is madness. Maybe he's a genius. But... I do know that this is going to be difficult."

19-1026-71 sighs quietly.

    "Still wish not to be on Earth?" Hugh asks a little wryly.

    "Yes."

    "Well, I'd trade places if I could."

    "If you die here, you'll have lost your life," 19-1026-71 says quietly. "If I do - I don't lose anything. You can't lose what you don’t have."

Tilly eyes him from the side, an almost comical expression of shock on her face. "But... you have a life. You are alive, you're here, you're thinking, feeling, right here, right now! You can't want to die!"

    "I never said that. I just said - I don't have anything to lose. There's no family I might want to see again, no... no memories I might want to relive, no places I want to see before I die, nothing I want to have done, so... I'll just... wait. Do my job, until one day it'll be over, and then I won't do it anymore."

Hugh tries to swallow around the lump in his throat. What do you even say to such an outlook on life? Med school did not prepare him for that.

    "You - you should find something you want to live for," Tilly says softly. "Anything. To get to see a hundred sunrises, or to drink a hundred liters of hot chocolate, or to eat a waffle in every capital on Earth. Even if it sounds stupid. And then, when you've made it through all the ups and downs while you were completing that goal, you'll - you'll want to keep going."

    "A hundred sunrises?" 19-1026-71 asks.

    "Whatever you like, yeah." Tilly shoots him a glance.

    "That sounds nice. A hundred sunrises. That's a long time, but... I think I'll see them." 

It's the first time Hugh has seen the android happy. He's got a lovely smile. Something in Hugh's chest begins to tentatively uncurl, like flowers growing after a winter.

What a stupid metaphor.

  
  


The trucks roll into the camp sometime after one am. It consists out of eight connecting buildings, far bigger than what Hugh expected.

    "They could house an army in here," Tilly remarks, stopping the truck but letting it idle. "Why only send us? Do you think they'll send more afterwards?"

    "You mean after the Klingons killed us, or..." It's a tasteless joke to make, but Hugh can't resist.

    "No! Come on, we've got great people, I'm sure we won't..." Tilly stops suddenly and stares. "Oh no. Oh, oh my god, no."

Hugh is just about to ask what it is when he hears it as well, the rat-rat-rat-rat of laser rounds and then the wob-wob of Klingon planes, their fine steering propellers' material protesting loudly against the air.

    "We have to stay inside," Hugh says. "We can't help them out there. Tilly, they'll need you to repair everything that gets blown to shit now, and they'll need me to... to fix everyone later. We're safest if we stay inside the truck."

Tilly nods, eyes still wide. "Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god."

There's a flurry of movement outside, the squadron getting the planes unloaded and then the first few take off. Hugh gets his first aid kit from the floor and grabs it hard. There's a plane loader next to them and he can watch the loading straps being undone in practised movements, fabric snapping or round after round hitting the ground, the same sound. It's worse because he knows everyone's names and all those little private things you gather about a person if you're around them for long enough.

This is why he's a horrible field medic, a horrible army doctor. Unless ordered, he technically can't go out there, and if he does, he has no protection. It's obvious that 19-1026-71 has no combat experience or programming, and Hugh isn't wearing a protective vest, and -

Lieutenant Owosekun stumbles back all of a sudden, flailing for a moment before she goes down, and Hugh is out of the truck in a flash, mindless of the rounds impacting right next to him. If he pulls her into the immediate shadow of the plane loader, he might be able to treat her. 

She whimpers, face contorted in pain. The fabric of her pants is rapidly staining red with blood where her thigh was hit.

    "Owosekun, don't worry. You're going to be fine," he says loudly, to get through to her through the shock and the pain and the commotion around them, planes taking to the air like birds about to die.

He's quick in binding her leg off, staving off the bleeding as much as he can, hands working on autopilot, tearing open her pants further and getting the regenerator to close the wound off. She might need a muscle transplant, or she might not, but she will survive, it's not that bad, and there's flurry all around them, one plane taking off right from the loader, right next to Hugh and his ears feel like they'll burst with the incredible shockwave of one of them taking off, newest technology yet still so damn dangerous.

    "Culber!" 19-1026-71's voice is faint through the ringing in Hugh's ear and the focus on Owosekun. "I can hold a regen just as well as any other guy. You've got to get over there, there are more people there!"

His mouth brushes over Hugh's ear and that's when he realizes how close the android is. It's...

The regen changes hands and Hugh jumps up, springing to the loader's front wheels and pressing against them, a poor cover against the spitting lasers, but he can see where 19-1026-71 was pointing, a group of four soldiers trying to take cover behind a boulder, too far away from either of the surrounding trucks to try for better cover. 

He knows he has to think.

One of the trucks, the nearest one, is Lorca's, the command truck, the only one with the loaded container accessible from the side instead of the back, and the door is open, only ten meters of completely uncovered ground between the boulder and the truck, thirty meters from Hugh to the boulder -

\- and he's already there, stopping on his knees in the dirt, the frightened faces of the four soldiers so close, and -

    "You've got to take better cover," he shouts over the everything. "Lorca's truck, now!"

They're turning around, weighing their options, their opportunities, and then he just gives the guy closest to the truck a good shove and he's off, managing the jump into the container just before a round of lasers splits the ground, coming so close to Hugh he can smell singed uniform, and then the next soldier makes it, but the second to last isn't going, holding onto her friend, who's pale and not looking good at all, a massive red spot spreading over her uniform. It's Ensign Elen, who Hugh did the skin patch on just a few days ago. Fuck.

There's nothing Hugh can do if they can't take cover, every other second out here in the open is a barely dodged death sentence, so he wraps his arms around the woman, gets on the tips of his toes, checks for the planes  - but where are they? - and runs.

He sets her down on the floor of Lorca's truck, a bit ungently, but he knows he can still save her, getting her vest off immediately, and yes, it's just a piece of shrapnel that's torn its way through the top of her shoulder, digging deep, but not so deep that he can't do anything about it, expertly clamping the major blood vessels off before getting the bridger from his pack. The wait for it to initialize is punctuated with more spitting lasers and the whom! of a plane or two blowing up, Lorca shouting into the radio, "Leave the blue plane, he's one of us! Dammit, what did I just say?!", green loading bars slowly ticking into place while the woman next to him seems to be getting paler by the minute. She needs pain meds, she needs a bed to lie on and a doctor with sterile hands, but they've got none of that here, a beep and he can finally attach the device.

The sudden silence is almost eerie.

Hugh turns around to the others, index and middle fingers steady on his patient's wrist. "Are they gone?"

    "Yes." It's Lorca, standing in the door, and from what little of his face Hugh can see, he's not particularly happy. Is he ever?

    "Will she be fine if you leave her?"

Hugh throws his patient a look. The pulse is feeling alright, but he wants to give her meds and check her oxygen saturation and blood pressure.

    "Isaacs," he calls one of the men still in the truck. "You know how to take blood pressure and pulse?" He showed it to the man less than a week ago, so he should still remember it.

    "Um, yes, sir, I do."

    "Good. Get this truck's first aid kid and keep an eye on her. Get her somewhere good to lie asap, and -" He searches through his kit, finding the hypospray immediately. "I'll administer 10hg of piritramid now. If she wakes up - call me, first of all, and if she's in extreme pain, give her the same amount again."

Isaacs nods sharply and gets moving. He's a good man. Not that Hugh has much of an option of who to leave Elen with.

Lorca leads him across the yard in long strides. He contracted a long cut along his neck as well, shallow but bleeding nicely. It will have to wait.

There's a blue Klingon plane standing pretty, with quite a handful of people gathered around it. The plane is smoking starkly, with Tilly's hair a bright contrast. Of course she has to be climbing around on that death trap.

    "There's a man in there," Lorca informs Hugh matter-of-factly. "He's been held prisoner at a Klingon facility for some six or seven months, and he'll have some highly important information. Save his life and make sure he'll be able to fly again, he's the best pilot on our side. Get me when he comes to, I want to hear everything he has to say."

And off he goes.

The soldiers immediately part for Hugh and - oh. The man in the cockpit is looking _ bad _ , face horribly bruised and bloodied, one eye swollen shut, lip split, hair untidy and uniform caked in dirt and dried blood.

    "Tilly, can you get that cockpit open?"

    "Working on it," she replies tensely, straining against twisted metal before it gives way suddenly, almost making her lose her balance. "Here we go. How do you want him?"

Hugh thinks quickly. "Barring, Tage, get me a cot from Medical, get me a full regenerator set and the mobile fullscanner. Peters, I need some water and a towel, a clean one. Thome, get me a stool of some sorts, so we can get him out of here. Everyone else, get moving, go be useful somewhere. I don't need lurkers while I'm trying to perform emergency medicine. Oh, Helbig, you go find 19-1026-71 with Owosekun, check up on them, see what they need. Tell 19 to get her somewhere more comfortable."

The soldiers get in motion immediately. Hugh pulls himself up onto the wing of the plane to peer inside the cockpit.

    "He's in bad shape, isn't he?" Tilly asks.

Hugh agrees with a hum. "How did he even land this bird if he's already passed out?"

Tilly shrugs. "I didn't see it, but, well, judging by how this thing looks -" She motions towards the clipped wing on the other side. "I suppose it wasn't a textbook landing."

    "No, definitely not." Hugh tests the hold of the cockpits rim for his knee before he balances inwards, trying to feel out the other man's pulse. The carotid pulse is weak, but there, so it's not all lost yet. "You have a knife? I'm going to cut him out of that safety harness."

 

They get the wounded man out of the plane with great difficulty. The entire right side of the plane is mangled, and mangled enough that his arm is stuck and they're unable to get it out as it is.

    "Alright," Hugh mutters to himself. Time to do something he really wishes he didn't have to do.

The  _ crack _ of breaking bone makes everyone stare at him. He pretends not to notice. 

 

Out of the plane and onto the cot shows how bad the man’s state truly is, because his left leg looks to be broken as well, and his uniform is torn in more places than Hugh can count. Chest is in one piece though, which is good because that means he can assume all the organs are in one piece too.

Taige rolls the fullscanner close, and then they all remain standing around. 

    "Right, guys, nothing to see here, go make yourself useful. You too, Tilly," Hugh orders, already booting up the fullscanner. 

He's left alone, quickly setting up the right mode to check his patient over with.

    "Can I help you with anything?" 19-1026-71 asks out of nowhere, and Hugh jumps a little.

    "Jesus, 19, warn a guy." Then: "Sorry. 19-1026-71. Sorry. I'm - it's been a bit of a - yeah."

    "That was very verbose." The android's voice is almost warm. "But - seriously, can I help you with anything?"

    "Yeah, actually, get some of the blood off of him please. But be careful, he's in bad shape."

19-1026-71 complies easily, and they work in silence for a while. Hugh fixes up the cuts he finds while cutting the pilot's pants leg away - damn the Federation for making such tights pants mandatory. Progress is slow, because the further Hugh moves towards the soldier's knee, the harder it is to get his knife between the fabric and the swollen skin.

    "Is his knee going to be alright?" the android asks.

    "Well, I sure hope so. Lorca is going to feed me my own balls if he doesn't come out of this without a scratch."

19-1026-71 looks up in confusion. "Why would he feed you your testicles? Are you... that bendy? Why would you let him do that?"

Hugh snorts. "It's a - a way of saying that Lorca will be very upset."

    "Oh."

    "Yeah."

 

Hugh tends to the pilot's leg and then his arm, carefully resetting the bones while 19-1026-71 heals all the other, comparatively minor bruises that are mottling the man's arms and chest.

    "You know..." Hugh begins, a little unsure of how to say this. "You're not that bad at this, this whole nursing thing. I could show you a thing or two, since you're going to hang around me anyways, so that you could help me a little. Only if you want to, of course," he adds hurriedly.

    "Do you think I'd be useful?"

    "Sure. I mean - even if you had two left hands, that's still better than no hands at all." He looks up to see 19-1026-71 watching him. "Um. It means -"

    "I know what it means."

    "Ah. Okay."

    "And ... if you think I could be useful, then ... yes. Why not?"

    "Great!"

 

The pilot wakes up merely minutes later with a small gasp, a few short moments of complete motionlessness. The shift into sheer terror is like a switch has been flicked and he wheezes for air, trying to surge up, flailing in panic.

Hugh is by his side in an instant, pressing him down onto the cot, which is not the best way to deal with a guy having a panic attack after half a year of torture and imprisonment, but it’s a good way to deal with a guy who’s only going to injure himself further, and Hugh likes his balls far away from his mouth.

    “Calm down, soldier, you’re with the Federation. Breathe. There are no Klingons around, you’re safe, just breathe, you’re safe, don’t worry, just calm down.”

The man is still breathing way too fast, hissing a little with each intake, and Hugh will definitely have to run blood tests for fevers and infections later, but he’s stopped struggling and is now watching Hugh with wide, panicky eyes.

Hugh carefully stops holding him down.

    “Hi,” he says gently. “My name is Doctor Hugh Culber, I’m with the 31st squadron under Captain Lorca. You’re safe.”

The pilot gasps another breath and closes his eyes for a moment.

    “Can you tell me your name?” Hugh prompts.

    “Tyler. Lieutenant - Ash, Ash Tyler.”

    “Okay, great. That’s good, Ash. Can you tell me how you feel?”

Tyler closes his eyes again, breathing starting to slow down.

    “I’m - I -” He swallows heavily, then looks up at Hugh again. “I need to talk to Captain Lorca.”

Hugh throws 19-1026-71 a look. “Go get him.”

With the android on his way, he turns back to his patient. “Lorca is on his way. How do you feel, Ash? Are you in pain?”

There’s something odd behind Tyler’s eyes as he answers: “I… I suppose so, yes.”

    “Okay, I’m going to give you something for the pain.” Hugh won’t address the ghosts in the young man’s eyes yet. He endured  _ months  _ of torture and imprisonment. Who knows what they did to him. Who knows whether he’ll ever be okay again.

    “Ah, he’s awake!” Lorca calls, taking long strides to walk up to them. “Lieutenant Tyler, am I right?”

    “Yes, sir.” Tyler struggles to sit up. Normally, Hugh wouldn’t encourage that at all, not with the lacerations and bruises on his stomach and everywhere else, but he knows very well when his words will fall on deaf ears.

    “Good man,” Lorca says, clapping Tyler on the shoulder in a manner that has Hugh wincing in sympathy. He hasn’t even gotten to reset that very shoulder. “Now, what can you tell me?”

    “There’s -” Tyler’s voice is weak. Hugh gives him about five minutes until he keels over again, which will hopefully lead to Lorca fucking off to wherever and letting Hugh treat his patient. “- in the plane -” He tries to lift his dislocated arm in the direction of the plane, eyes already rolling back into his skull a little, confused with the sudden pain. “I’ve got… in the plane…”

Hugh shoots forward and catches him smoothly, easing him down onto the cot again.

    “If you let me treat him properly - and don’t inflict extra pain - I’ll have him awake and able to answer every question you have by this evening. Sir,” Hugh adds, just to be petty.

Lorca scowls, predictably, and there’s another remark on Hugh’s tongue that he just barely manages to catch.

    “Alright, get to it, Culber. And I want him in fighting condition by the end of the next week. Best pilot on the whole damn planet, so you better fix him up. I’ve got a war to win here.”

Hugh nods, waiting with glaring until Lorca has already turned back around.

    “Asshole,” Hugh mutters under his breath.

19-1026-71 looks after Lorca. 

    “Can you heal him?”, he asks. “Is he - the way he’s hurt, is that bad for humans?”

    “Well -” Hugh lowers Tyler’s head down carefully. “I’m going to have no problem healing his body, and by the end of the week he should be well enough to walk around, to fly a plane if need be, to shoot people, to fight in hand to hand combat and all that, that’s not a problem.”

    “But?” the android prompts.

    “Look.” Hugh turns to look up at 19-1026-71. “I’m a doctor. I heal the body. When we leave this hell place, I hope I’ll have been able to - well, I hope I’ll have been able to save everyone, so we can all leave. But… we’ll all take something home. We’ll all have nightmares, we’ll all develop our little tics and our little fears and we’ll all be changed. Forever. And Tyler here, he is already changed. I don’t know him, but I know trauma when I see it, and I don’t know what exactly he went through, but…” Hugh stares at the man again. He doesn’t look like he’s at peace in unconsciousness. “I sincerely hope they only tortured him.”

    “What is that supposed to mean?”

Hugh gets up and claps the android on the shoulder. “Keep an eye on him, okay? Have someone get me when he wakes up again. I’ll go set up my medbay so I can treat him properly.”

  
  


Hugh sets his medbay up in what must’ve been a vehicle bay originally, judging by the high doors. Apart from a few leaks in the roof it’s amazing, so much better than a tent, the floor smooth concrete and the walls thick enough to ward off the cold as soon as they’ve set up some of the generators. And it’s spacious! Definitely far better than what they had before.

19-1026-71 is being spectacularly unhelpful with setting especially the heavier machinery up, instead choosing to watch Hugh and some of the soldiers. Hugh is going to have to have a talk with him about that, because with some extra help the dermal regen oscillator would surely not have crashed down. Tilly is going to have a field day repairing that.

He treats Owosekun and Elen, deciding they’ll both stay in bed for at least a day longer, and he takes the first samples from Tyler, hoping the man doesn’t bring any difficult viruses. He didn’t wake up at all when they carried him over into medbay, a testament to his exhaustion.


	4. IV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello and welcome back!  
> this chapter will be a bit heavier and more explicit, so please READ THE NOTES:  
> warnings for panic attacks (not too graphic, but right in the beginning), mentions of torture and starvation (but honestly only mentions, it's not that bad, but basically tyler wakes up properly and he's not in the best shape).  
> also warnings for hugh trying to get some private time, which gets rather explicit.
> 
> to skip tyler waking up and having a bad time, skip the first paragraph.  
> to skip hugh in the shower, just end the chapter after 19 tells hugh that he should go to bed because his vitals are off.
> 
>  
> 
> also, for those of you who follow me on tumblr, you might've noticed that i'm ~~being a whiny bitch~~ going through a period of very bad writer's block, so i might have to shorten the chapters (worst case scenario i'll have to halve them), so i can keep the update schedule, but we'll see. maybe the writing is coming back, which i hope!  
>  anyways, now you go on to enjoy this chapter :)
> 
> again, there are a few little easter eggs hidden here and there, so let's see whether you'll find them :D

Tyler wakes up again three hours later, with a start and a panicked whimper as he tries to fight against the shoulder brace and the blanket, terror stark in his eyes. Hugh’s head snaps up from the reading he was analyzing and he rushes over, but not before Tyler has fallen off the cot, now writhing on the floor.

    “Hey, hey, hey, Ash, it’s okay, you’re safe. Deep breaths, Ash,” Hugh prompts gently, knowing from firsthand experience to keep his voice soft. “It’s okay, Ash. Everything’s fine, you’re safe, we’re not going to hurt you. Okay?”

Tyler calms down a little. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I just -”   
    “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it. You’ve been through a lot,” Hugh calms him. “Let’s get you back on that bed, okay? You need to rest.”

    “Listen.” Tyler’s grab is stark on his arm, fingers digging into exactly the same bruises 19-1026-71 made when protecting Hugh from the fall, and Hugh can’t help but flinch. “I need to talk to Captain Lorca. It’s important. There are - in the plane. I need the plane. I need to talk to Captain Lorca.”

    “Okay, hey, calm down, okay? We’re going to get you back on that bed, and then we’re going to call the captain. Come on, hold onto me and we’ll get you back on your legs.”

Tyler is surprisingly quick to stand, and surprisingly steady too, so Hugh allows him to sit on the edge of the cot while he calls Lorca.

    “Ash? You want something to eat?”

    “To eat?” The madness is back in his eyes, badly hidden. God, Hugh does not want to imagine what Tyler must've gone through. Not many people make it out of Klingon prison, and very rarely they are as sane as Tyler is, even now.

    "Are you hungry?" Hugh asks carefully. He is in no way equipped to deal with the fallout of whatever the lieutenant went through, so he'll have to make it up as he goes. 

And Tyler does look like he could use some meat on his bones. His cheeks are hollow and his eyes are sitting deep in their sockets, and Hugh had been able to count every single rib on him. He could also use a shower and a haircut as well as a shave, but Hugh won't comment on that. There'll be time for Tyler to more or less come back to life later.

When Tyler doesn't respond, Hugh simply says: "I'm going to have someone get you something to eat. I know it might not be easy, but try to at least eat a little, to get used to it again. 19, could you -?"

    "No," the android shoots him down immediately. "I'm here to protect you, not to be your servant. What was that whole thing about how you're going to treat me like a human?"

Hugh has to bite down very hard on his tongue to not say anything in response. Instead, he gets one of the soldiers still setting up the generators to grab some food for Tyler and the two women.

  
  


Lorca manages to show up within minutes, around the same time as the soldier turns up with Tyler's food.

    "Culber, you and your 'bot get out, this is a private conversation," Lorca - well, he doesn't snap, but it's somewhere close. 

    "All due respect, sir, but -"

    "But you'll follow my orders. Go get something to eat." Lorca stares expectantly. "Out. I'll tell you if he randomly dies."

Hugh grinds his teeth but does as he's ordered. 19-1026-71 follows him almost soundlessly, for once not making a comment. God, but Hugh still wants to give him a piece of his mind. There's probably the emotion chip in his computer brain malfunctioning. Maybe Tilly should check it out, get him to stop having all those mood swings between helpful and absolute asshole.

  
  


Tilly just so happens to be in the quickly-set up mess hall as well, and she pats the bench next to her in invitation.

    "So you opted for the green sludge. Looks fancy. Hi 19! You remember how I told you about my amazing girlfriend Michael? This is her!"

Michael nods at both of them. Hugh has rarely seen her smile, usually only around Tilly, but it's okay. Michael is a cool cookie.

    "Michael, this is 19-1026-71, Hugh's  _ personal _ protection squad. Isn't that awesome? He gets to be protected by one of the most sophisticated androids ever made!"

Michael not-smiles in the way she has, and reaches out a hand towards 19-1026-71. "Nice to meet you."

To Hugh's surprise, the android takes the hand.

Hugh just shakes his head and sits down next to Tilly, while 19-1026-71 takes the place next to Michael.

    "So, 19. You still haven't told me how you charge, and I have a feeling that the captain will want me to be completely up to date on... well, on everything."

    "It's 19-1026-71," the android replies tonelessly.

    "O-kay, um, well, you see, technically I'm your, well, doctor, so maybe you should let me run a system diagnosis some time," Tilly tries.

    "No."

    "Look, one day, we're going to be in the thick of the fighting, something will happen to you and Tilly will have to know exactly how you work to fix you up again," Hugh interrupts, fed up with the android's attitude. "So she's either going to check you through, or I'll take that matter up with Lorca."

19-1026-71's glare could probably sear through metal.

    "Fine."

Michael is doing a pretty bad job of pretending not to listen. Tilly stares down onto her mostly empty plate.

Great, Hugh tells himself. Hugh Culber, instant mood ruiner. Just add water. Or an asshole android.

And the food isn't even good. It's probably supposed to be some kind of vegetable stew, but... well, everything Hugh could say about it would have more to do with his nursing experience and wiping the floor in hospitals than with any kind of edible… something. Better not to complain. At least they have food.

    "How's the pilot they pulled out of the Klingon plane?" Michael asks.

Hugh shrugs. "Well, he's alive," he says through a mouthful of sludge. "I would've liked for him to have some time off, but the captain insisted on questioning him right now. I mean, he'll be fine, physically at least. I just hope Lorca will actually let him rest."

    "I hope he'll be able to tell Lorca something. We're sitting ducks out here."

That’s true as well.

  
  


They head over to Tilly's workshop once Hugh is done eating. Tilly is already fully set up and she immediately starts getting all kinds of devices from pretty much everywhere. Her workshop isn't as bad a mess as it always seems, but the exact plan of where things are is still a mystery to Hugh.

    "So what kind of scans do you want?" 19-1026-71 asks, dismay obvious in his voice.

    "Well, I'm going to start with a physio scan once over, then I'll do each body part in detail, and then I'd like to run a full system diagnosis, including your memory core, your processing unit and your original settings."

    "Is that optional, or -"

Tilly smiles a bit awkwardly. "No, sorry. You see, it's the same thing we'd do with a new soldier too, except that you're not going to Hugh for blood tests and stuff, you're going to me. Sorry about that. If you could just stand right here, and I'll -" She scurries around 19-1026-71, attaching various devices and pulling screens up. "Okay, so just-  don't move for a moment while I -" She taps away at the screens, diagnostics blurring over the glass. It certainly looks very fancy, that much Hugh is aware of.

    "Wait, that's - that can't be. Hang on, I have to resynchronize the para-plasteel ray. Sorry. Okay, now... wait, but that's still... " Tilly stays bent over the screen. "That is impossible. How -  _ why _ , most importantly, and... that makes  _ no _ sense at all."

She steps close to the android. "Uh, so... I don't know how, but I can't even get past your chest plate. Could you undress for me? Completely?"

19-1026-71 raises an eyebrow. "Is that really necessary?"

Tilly sighs. "Look, I get it, I wouldn't want to undress in front of so many strangers either. Um - hey, Michael, Hugh, how about you go wait outside? I'll get you back when we're done."

    "Fine. But Tilly, I want -"

    "To know everything I find out. I know. Now shoo. We're not all supermodels, Hugh."

 

So he and Michael wait, leaned against the wall outside.

    "So tell me about that android," Michael says, frowning slightly. "What is he?"

Hugh shrugs. "He's not a fighter, he's not a doctor - it makes no sense that he's here, but he's here and he's... not happy about that. He's a M7G, one of the -"

    "With a synthetic soul. Yeah, I heard of them."

    "Exactly. And that makes him a little volatile."

    "And did Lorca say anything about why he specifically is here? Why not give you a proper fighter for protection? Why one with the syn-soul?"

    "Honestly, Michael, I have no idea. I've also never seen Tilly have problems scanning an android before. I mean, I don't know enough about engineering, especially not the finer moments of super-anthro engineering or bio engineering, but she didn't even get past the chest plate. I've never seen that or heard about that before. Aren't their outer layers all made from tripolymer?"

Michael nods. "Yup. And as a matter of fact it's illegal to not make them out of that."

    "That's... odd, to say the least."

    "Look." Michael turns to stand in front of Hugh. "I know you think I'm nuts, and I know you think I'm traumatized and hallucinating, so your medical opinion is probably to take everything I say with an entire shaker of salt, but... listen to me, Hugh. There is something absolutely wrong here. That android shouldn't be here. The M7G's were all stored, they were all taken offline, and it would take weeks to establish their uplink again. Enough time for a dozen new androids to be built. Someone was planning on sending 19-1026-71 here. And I can't think of another reason to send a non-fighter android to a planet at war unless you wanted to get rid of it. Him. You can't kill these androids, Hugh. Someone wanted to get rid of him."

It makes a disturbing amount of sense. 

    "I believe you," Hugh says. "Or - well, at least it sounds very plausible."

Michael smiles a little bit bitterly. "I'm not completely mad."

    "Yeah, well. I've seen your scans, Michael Burnham."

She sighs. "Well, what do you expect?"

    "How do you feel?"

    "I'm fine."

    "Bullshit. I'm not fine, and I'm only doctoring around here. You - what you - what you had to do, Michael, it's -"

    "I know. Let's not talk about it. I'm... dealing."

    "Are you?"

She shrugs. "Let's say that I'm doing my best. I could use some of those soporifics though. I think Tilly is a little fed up with me waking her up at odd hours."

    "Of course."

The conversation halts for a moment.

    "Can I ask you something, Hugh?"

    "Yeah, sure."

    "The guy you saved from the plane. The Klingon plane, I might add. How did Lorca know not to shoot at it? How did he know that this was the plane he shouldn't shoot at? How did he know that this specific plane would hold that specific man?"

    "What are you implying here?"

    "Have you checked the guy? All the way through?"

    "Michael..."

    "Are you sure he's human? Are you sure he's not a spy, surgically engineered to look human?"

Unease is spreading through Hugh's stomach. "Look, Michael. I - well, I'm not supposed to tell you that, but I did all the necessary scans. I did all the tests, and unless you want me to cut him open, well, he's human."

Michael is just about to reply something when the door smacks against the brick wall with the force of it opening.

    "You can come back in!" Tilly calls from the inside. "So, we did all the scans as much as we could. Hugh, come here and look at this." She points to her big wallscreen. "You see that? That black spot in his thorax?"

    "Yes. Is it cancer?"

    "Uh." She gives him a weird look. "No, why would it be cancer? It's a spot that I can't scan."

Hugh throws a look to the android, who's looking defiant and angry.

    "Which means that we don't know what's there, right?"

    "Yes, and that's bad, because he's got so many hidden protocols that it would take me the better part of a  _ year _ to work through them all and to understand what he is capable of."

    "How many protocols are we talking about here?" Michael asks, swiping through a list.

    "525,600," Tilly says quietly.

    "What?!" Hugh whirls around to 19-1026-71, who flinches slightly.

    "That's impossible!" Michael exclaims. "It's - it's completely impossible to have more than a quarter of a million protocols, but more than half a million? That's - that's -"

    "The readout doesn't lie," Tilly explains with a shrug. "It's weird, I know, but it's far from the weirdest thing. You ready for more? So, usually, for a readout, I'd open the occipital area of the head, where every android has a retractable plate, to get to the main processing unit. Well - I can't do that with 19 here. He doesn't have that plate. It's all solid material."

    "So what did you do?"

    "Well, there are a couple workarounds, such as a HDMI-3 port, with which I could get a decent idea of what we're working with here. And... " Tilly looks down on the PADD she's holding. "Well. I had him run some simple protocols, and - while they do run through his main processing unit, they're encrypted and stored. All of them. Basically, he can't forget anything and can't be made to forget anything either. Now that wouldn't be a problem if we even knew where he stores them. As far as I can tell, he doesn't have an uplink either, so -"

    "Wait," Hugh interrupts her. "He doesn't have an uplink?"

    "Nope."

    "How is that even possible?"

Tilly shrugs and spreads her arms. "Hugh, you're looking at the biggest technological marvel of our entire civilization. I could go on - there are so many things about 19 that are different from what I know, and I've barely scratched the surface, but the point is: if something should happen to him, I'd probably be able to fix him, but on the other hand I - I can't tell you anything about him. There might be a bomb hidden inside his chest, there might be - well, there could be anything hidden."

Hugh glances back at the readout. It looks a lot like he's got one completely cancerous lung, but that's just a tad unlikely.

    "So what are we going to do?"

    "You have to tell Lorca about it," Michael says. "He'll want to know, and I don't think we can afford keeping that from him."

    "Can't afford to keep what from me?" the man in question asks.

Hugh sighs internally. He wishes he knew how the captain always manages to appear at the worst possible moments in time.

    "Tilly, you tell me that, Culber, you and your droid head back over to medbay, look after Tyler. Burnham, you go check in with Saru for the mountain expedition."

 

Michael throws Hugh a glance once they're clear from the workshop. 

    "You know, sometimes I wonder what he's really planning," she says quietly. "I - I can't read him. It's never happened to me, but I can't read him."

    "I'm a little surprised he didn't want to talk to 19-1026-71," Hugh admits. "But - it is Lorca, so I'm not really surprised anymore. Do you want to come over and grab those soporifics?"

 

Tyler is asleep on his cot again when they come back in, and his vitals look normal enough, so Hugh is going to let him sleep. He sends Michael off with her drugs and goes to tidy his medbay up a little bit, staying relatively quiet as to not interrupt Tyler, but also not have him suddenly get scared at a sound.

19-1026-71 keeps standing in the middle of the room, being spectacularly unhelpful, but Hugh honestly doesn't have the energy to argue. He can't make heads or tails of the android. One moment he's almost friendly and the next he's an absolute asshole again.

 

It's sometime around eleven pm when 19-1026-71 suddenly speaks up.

    "You should go to bed. Your vitals are off."

Hugh throws him a look. "So?"

    "You need to take care of yourself to be able to take care of others. Go to bed."

And god, does Hugh want to argue, simply for the sake of arguing. But the android is right. He's tired, he's nursing a headache and he craves a hot shower and then the sweet oblivion of sleep on a mattress.

So he checks that Tyler and the two women are wearing their vita bracelets to alert Hugh if their vital signs change dramatically. It's not the best move to leave a guy who's just returned from torture and imprisonment more or less on his own in a strange environment, but Hugh can't stand sleeping in his medbay. The pilot will have to be fine, and it's not like Hugh is far away; his quarters are directly adjacent to the 'bay.

 

And... oh, he has his own bathroom, and even though the aqualyzer has seen better days, the check lamp is glowing a marvelous green, so Hugh fires the heater up immediately and strips his shirt off.

He turns around to hang it on the hooks on the wall, and that's when he realizes that 19-1026-71 is in the room with him. Specifically, in his own bathroom, that's his and only his due to his status as CMO. Suddenly being shirtless feels oddly vulnerable.

    "Er, 19? You... mind waiting outside?"

    "I have to stay in visual range of you at all times," the android replies, looking as uncomfortable as Hugh feels.

    "My eyes are up here," Hugh blurts out, glad that his skin will likely hide his blush. 

19-1026-71's head snaps back upwards. His skin does not hide his blush. Fascinating. Hugh had no idea that androids could blush.

    "Sorry."

    "Look, I'd like to take a shower, and for that I'd like some privacy," Hugh says.

    "Oh, I'm not going to step into the cubicle with you. I'll stay here."

Hugh's dick twitches a little, demanding to finally be paid attention to again.

    "Uh. Listen, there's - well, um. I'd like some privacy," Hugh repeats himself, cheeks starting to burn.

    "I can turn around while you undress."

    "How about you wait outside?"

    "Captain Lorca's orders to me were clear," the android explains.

Good lord. What's a guy gotta do to get a hand on his dick around here?

    "I would like to take my shower in private. That means alone. Completely alone. There's nowhere I could go and - hey! You could at least look me in the eye instead of... ogling me!" Hugh snaps. The worst thing is that he likes being looked at by the android. "Get out, let me shower. Please."

19-1026-71, blush high on his cheeks, turns on his heels and walks out, slamming the door a little. Hugh heaves a relieved breath and presses the heel of his hand against his groin.

    "Down," he mutters. It doesn't work. Of course not. Thank god it doesn’t, because he really wants to take care of that.

He makes quick work of his pants and shoes and underwear, and then he steps into the shower, turning it on and moaning a little as the hot spray hits his shoulders. Oh, he'd forgotten how good showering feels. He tilts his head so that the water almost falls into his face, and just enjoys the shower. The water is almost scalding hot, washing the accumulated dirt on his body down the drain in grey-brown swirls. Hugh splashes some of the water over his face, rubbing against his eyes a little bit. The headache is still there, but at least he can shower and has a proper bed waiting for him.

The hot water is heavenly on his sore muscles and he'd love to stay here forever, but there's a probably rather impatient android waiting on the other side of the door, and Hugh would like to get the important part of the shower over with before said android comes barging in. 

No, not the washing up part. The important part.

Hugh runs his hand over his chest, pressing against the skin, swirling his fingers around a nipple. He's far too impatient to enjoy himself as much as he'd like, and he's on far too tight a schedule. He assumes he has ten, maybe fifteen minutes before 19-1026-71 comes kicking down the door, and -

The look on his face would be priceless. He'd been staring earlier, maybe because he's never seen another human undressed before, but maybe because he liked what he saw. Maybe in a different universe he would've kept staring at Hugh, would've stepped forward to run his fingers along the same paths that Hugh's are on now, down his chest and over his stomach and then cup his balls. Normally, Hugh would clock a person if they'd just grab his crown jewels, but... maybe he'd already be completely naked, and maybe the android would be standing close to him, lips slightly parted, pupils wide, watching Hugh, exploring his skin, and -

Hugh lets out a shivering little breath as he finally wraps his fingers around himself, muscle memory firing up and complementing with the actual sensation so nicely. It has definitely been a while.

And 19-1026-71 would maybe - oh, maybe he'd ask to touch Hugh, just to learn what humans feel like, and Hugh would end up leaning a little against the counter while the android lets curious hands wander all over him, blue eyes wide and dark, fingers warm when they finally wrap around Hugh's erection, tugging a little gracelessly. His lips would be pink from - maybe Hugh would kiss him, bite them a little, then they'd be really pink, and maybe he'd - mmh, the pull feels nice, the water making for some very rough friction, not ideal, but better than - soap, maybe, and Hugh almost drops the bottle of shower wash he'd brought with him, gathering a nice dollop onto his fingers and letting them resume their path again. The android would - would he like to be kissed? What would it feel like? And Hugh imagines a hot mouth, a slick tongue playing against his, skin tingling under the touch of another living being. There are few things Hugh misses as much as sex, just the intimacy of it, letting loose, being with another person. He grew up in a very physically affectionate family, and now he feels starved. So to consider the android pressing up against him, clothes rough against Hugh's skin until, oh, until Hugh would open the zipper of his jacket, touch the skin of his neck and then, maybe - and the soap really feels so much better, not like another hand would feel, but the slide is good, not like it's really Hugh's hand touching him, more like - blue eyes, wide, and pink lips with almost translucent skin stretched around - ah, and maybe two hands on Hugh's hips, and he'd get to touch those platinum locks while 19-1026-71 swallows around him, burying his nose in his pubic hair, maybe moaning a little, he'd like it, maybe, and his tongue flicking against -

Hugh breathes harshly and stretches out a hand to support himself against the wall. Fuck, it's been far too long since he masturbated at all; this is going to his head far too quickly, and he can't even think about how he should maybe focus his fantasies on someone else. 19-1026-71 could come in any moment, see Hugh's hand tugging on his cock, chest heaving, and his eyes would be so blue, and he'd maybe be a little shocked and maybe a little intrigued and maybe he'd ask Hugh what he's doing, if -

    "Doctor Culber, are you alright?" The door opens and lets in a gust of cold air together with an inquisitive android. Hugh freezes in shock, hand still squeezing himself. The android can't see him, he thinks. He hopes. Oh god, what if he can see Hugh, legs spread for balance, and -

    "I - do apologize for the interruption, but your vital signs indicate distress, and that is, in my understanding, not the point of a shower."

Hugh is a doctor. Hugh wants to save lives. Hugh does not want to harm people.

Hugh desperately, desperately wants to stab the android right now. His balls are high and tight and he needs maybe a few more strokes, maybe a few minutes, to come, and he's never wanted something more than he wants this orgasm.

    "19," he says lowly, threat obvious in his voice (he hopes).

    "Are you finished showering?"

    "No," he growls from behind gritted teeth.

    "I think it would be prudent if I stayed with you, so that I can call help if your vital signs turn critical again."

    "My vital signs are  _ not _ critical," Hugh says, suddenly aware of the utter ridiculousness of the situation. Here he is, in his long-awaited hot water shower, finally with a hand on his dick, having made good progress on the whole “get off before the android walks in” thing, but then the aforementioned android did walk in, leaving Hugh high and dry, and is now arguing to stay based on Hugh's vital signs allegedly being in distress.

Please. He needs two minutes on his own. Max.

And yes, of course sexual acts make your heart rate go up, and your respiration and probably a whole ton of other things that Hugh would know about if his body hadn't currently rerouted all computing power to the downstairs brain, which is practically on its knees and begging for an orgasm.

And most unfortunately, that's the only thing on its knees.

Fuck.

    "Are you really going to stand there and wait until I'm done showering?" Hugh asks, somewhere between resigned and angry.

    "Perhaps you should hurry. To conserve water," is the reply he gets and by everything that's holy, he wants to react violently so badly.

He flexes his hand around his dick, considering whether he could possibly get off like this, but... no, he can't. Not only because it's bad enough to jack off while in the room with a person who's unaware of the jacking off happening, but also because he knows the only way to get off now would be to continue his fantasy, and that's been bad enough while 19-1026-71 was in the other room, but it's a whole other level of depraved to do that with the object of your fantasy in the room. Also, he’s likely to make noise when he comes, and while the door might have muffled that, he’s got no such luck now.

Hugh tries to sigh inaudibly and lets go of his dick. It twitches against his stomach in protest, throbbing a little. Great. He's going to wake up with world's most painful morning wood.

He grabs the soap and starts lathering himself, trying to keep the touch clinical and not think back about his fantasy. If he had at least gotten off to the thought of fucking a robot. Fuck.

  
  


He steps out of the shower with the towel already grabbed. 19-1026-71 doesn't really need to see him naked and still hard. That's not a conversation Hugh is ready for. Maybe the android does have a sexual program as well, maybe he has no idea how human procreation (and recreation) works, maybe he knows but isn't equipped for it, but whatever it is, Hugh doesn't want to have to explain himself.

19-1026-71 is studying the room in a bored manner.

    "Does showering always take this long?" he asks, scrutinizing the old piping under the sink.

    "Sometimes," Hugh mutters, not bothering to be nice. His dick gives a sad little twitch as he walks past the android. 

He's got a nice butt somewhere underneath that uniform.

Ugh.

Hugh tosses the towel onto the single chair in the room and steps into his pajama pants instead, tying them off and subtly arranging himself.

    "Don't tell me you're going to stay in the room," he says over his shoulder while shrugging on the shirt.

    "Of course."

Hugh groans. "Come on. I can't sleep with you standing next to my bed."

19-1026-71 switches the bathroom light off and comes to stand next to Hugh.

    "You slept next to me on the truck," he says, squinting a little in confusion.

God, but he's cute. And his lips are just the slightest hint of pink. Oh no.

Hugh marches over to the bathroom and switches the light back on. 

    "Yeah, well, the truck was different. We didn't stand much of a choice there, did we?"

He gets his toothbrush ready and starts brushing.

    "'N 'sh unwigely I'll be ashaulted while in a shingle 'oom wigh 'o o'ger egjitsh."

19-1026-71 comes over again, this time with confusion written all over his face.

    "Excuse me?"

Hugh spits the foam out and repeats himself: "I said it's unlikely I'll be assaulted while in a single room with no other exits. So you don't really need to be in the room with me while I sleep."

    "That's what I'm ordered to do. I can't disobey an order."

    "You can't or you won't?"

    "What's the difference?"

Hugh lowers his arm again. It doesn't look like he'll get to properly brush his teeth. 

    "Well, you don't strike me as the type of android with unbreakable rules installed."

    "I'm not."

    "That means you could let me sleep alone, but you choose not to. Kind of a dick move."

The android doesn't reply to that. Hugh gets to brush his teeth in peace.

  
  


When he’s finally switched off the lights and slips under the blankets, 19-1026-71 is still in the room. Hugh suspects he won't have any luck in winning the fight of where the android should spend his night.

    "Are you sure you don't need to charge?" he asks in a last ditch effort, but 19-1026-71 just shakes his head. "Fine then."

    "Sleep well," comes the reply from the shadows.

Hugh rolls himself into a nice blanket burrito and faces the wall.

Everything is quiet and dark.

His dick gives a desperate little twitch.

If he plays his cards right - 19-1026-71 shouldn't be able to see too much, and maybe if he just presses down a little bit - ah, yes, that feels good, and now just a little friction -

Hugh hits the head straight on with a rough seam in his pants and manages to muffle the involuntary sound he made into the pillow.

    "Are you alright?" comes the faux-concern from behind his back. Hugh curses his bad luck.

He gasps a "yeah, yeah" back and hopefully that alleviates 19-1026-71's concern.

Okay. He should stay mindful of the seam then. But what if he just wraps his fingers around his dick a little, get some tugging going on, yes, just like that, that's nice, that's really nice, and now just the image of blue eyes and light blonde hair and maybe a body pressed against him from the back, a guy, aroused, and he'd -

    "Is that a mosquito bite bothering you? You shouldn't scratch it. I'm sure you've got some lotion that might help with the itching in the drug cabinet," the android offers.

Hugh stills his hand and glares at the wall in front of his face.

    "No, I'm fine," he bites out, reluctantly removing his hand. It's going to be a hard night. Pun... probably intended.


	5. V.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys!   
> first of all, thank you so much for your comments! they really make my day <3
> 
> this time, there's some nsfw stuff in the paragraph after the one where hugh is at the gym, so just skip that if you'd like to avoid it. otherwise, nothing bad happens. well. nothing that'd need trigger warnings ;)
> 
> also (slightly belated), happy hanukkah!! i know i'm two days late, but i hope you guys have had a good time nonetheless and will continue having nice holidays <3

Hugh is dragged back to awareness by an incessant beeping that he needs a minute to identify as his alarm clock. He turns around and searches for it blindly, managing to shut it off and curl up with the blankets again. He's warm and comfortable, and ideally he'd slip a hand between his legs now, get some damn relaxation into his body before his morning run.

    "If you shut off your alarm clock, it's very likely that you will fall asleep again, thus oversleeping," a voice remarks. 

Right. The fucking android. The biggest cockblocker in the entire universe.

Hugh groans something in response and hides his face in his pillow.

Can't a guy get five goddamn minutes of peace here?

     "You should get up and -"

     "If you don't shut up like yesterday, I'm going to make sure you'll never speak again," Hugh growls out.

The ensuing silence is blissful. His dick throbs pleadingly.

Hugh groans and rubs his eyes. He's sluggish and unwell, but he's got patients to tend to and - oh. He could take a hot water shower. He can take as many showers as he likes, because they're filtering their water straight from the ocean, and that means there's an almost limitless supply of hot water. He could take a hot shower now, go tend to his patients, go on his morning run, take another shower and then have breakfast. That's an amazing idea.

Hugh worms his way out of the blankets and sits up, scrubbing a hand over his tired face. His feet touch the cold stone floor and he flinches.

    "Morning," he mutters in the direction of the android. Ugh, it's still too early. 

He gets up and haphazardly makes his bed before heading to the bathroom. 19-1026-71 follows him immediately, but Hugh stops him before he can get into the bathroom as well.

    "Okay, here's the thing: You will never join me in the bathroom. You will never come in here, no matter how off my vital signs may be. Unless I am actively calling for help or it's a matter of life and death, you will not come in here and you will not disturb me. There's nothing in here that is in any way dangerous to me, and I don't need your protection. If anything, it's important for my mental health to have this time for myself. Got it?"

Hugh slams the door before 19-1026-71 can respond, smiling to himself. He needs to be able to be on his own at least a little bit, and he definitely doesn't want to have to abstain from some self-love just because he's got a protector android now. What's the worst that could happen to him in the shower?

He strips and gets in, water immediately hot since he left the boiler on. Hmm. A hot morning shower. There's nothing that comes quite as close to happiness at the moment.

Except of course the aforementioned self-love. 

Hugh wraps his fingers around his already hard dick and tugs, moaning immediately. This is not going to take long.

His mind begins building a similar fantasy to the one he entertained yesterday, lovely blue eyes and another man touching him, leaning against him, fingers hot on Hugh's skin, moans mingling in the foggy air from the hot water, and he's close, he's very close, just gotta - oh, yes, that feels good, and Hugh can't help put call out a little.

The door opens with a bang.

    "Doctor Culber! Are you -"

    "I'm going to fucking strangle you," Hugh explodes.

    "You were quite obviously in distress, from the sounds you've made," the android protests.

    "I - bumped my toe. It's fine, I'm fine, and if you could please leave me in fucking peace -"

Hugh is interrupted by the alarmed beeping of the vita bracelet connecting unit and he sighs, head falling forward, and gives his dick a sad look. All he wants in life is to have one single orgasm. Is that too much to ask for?

Then he's in motion again, drying off quickly and getting dressed before grabbing the unit and running out the door.

  
  


It's Tyler. Of course it's Tyler. The man is lying half in, half out of his bed, shaking, sweat pearling on his skin, eyes wide and unseeing. Hugh sighs internally. Just another day on the job, then.

  
  


After getting Tyler to calm down and administering a frankly high dose of tranquilizer, Hugh checks in on Owosekun and Elen, both of whom are still sleeping peacefully. Of course. It is only five fifty, and while usually the camp would wake up around six, they can now sleep in. Hugh hopes he won't have to tell Lorca off for telling them off for sleeping in when officially too injured to do much. He'll probably keep them in bed today as well. Especially since Owosekun won't be walking for a while.

  
  


He still wants to go for his run though, so once he's checked up on his patients he changes into his light running gear.

19-1026-71 keeps following him around, but he's probably still miffed from being snapped at, so he's quiet and Hugh can actually enjoy the early morning as much as you can enjoy early mornings.

  
  


He does his thirty laps around the exercise square, the sun clear and sharp. He's lost somewhere in his own thoughts about nothing particular, the android following him easily but for once being unobtrusive.

Hugh feels like they'll need to have a talk today. If 19-1026-71 keeps following him everywhere, Hugh is going to lose his mind. If he keeps having those mood swings, Hugh is going to lose his mind  _ twice _ .

  
  


Of course his shower after his run is interrupted too, after he's had less than ten seconds under the hot spray. He's beginning to take it personally.

This time, it's a severed finger that he manages to attach in under thirty minutes, with 19-1026-71 looking on anxiously.

  
  


He goes to get breakfast after that, a grayish mass of something that tastes vaguely of oatmeal. Fuck, he misses his mother's breakfast.

     "Do you think this is orange juice?" Tilly asks, plopping down next to him with a glass of something that's even brighter than her hair. "Because it looks like I'll go blind if I stare at it any longer."

Hugh can't help but chuckle. "I hear it has vitamins."

    "Radioactive vitamins."

    "Good morning to you too."

Tilly throws him a wide grin. "Oh yes, it's been a very good morning indeed." She looks over to where Michael is just getting her breakfast. "Very, very good. I love having access to hot showers again."

    "Good. You don't want to get her to contract an UTI," Hugh comments. Normally he wouldn't imply that he knows someone got laid, but given how he himself very enthusiastically did  _ not _ get laid or even anywhere close to release, he's going to be salty about it. 

At least Tilly has the decency to blush.

Michael is in a better mood too, and she looks like she slept well.

    "So, Michael, what did Saru say yesterday?" Hugh asks.

She shrugs. "He's an anxious mess. I'd advise to give him half a liter of tranqs, but that's just me. I don't know how Lorca stands having a guy constantly remind him that we're all going to die while he's, quote unquote, trying to fight a damn war!"

They all chuckle. Lorca can be a bit over the top sometimes, and sometimes is most of the time.

    "But, anyways, according to Saru, the idea is that once that pilot is well enough to work again, he and I go look around the mountains on the other side. Apparently he has been there before, and... knows something or other, and I'm going with him because I'm a good fighter. Go figure. But apparently Lorca is hoping to find something there."

    "Find something?" Hugh echoes.

Michael pulls a face that clearly indicates she has no idea either. "I did some reading between the lines, and from what I understand that pilot has a certain knowledge that... might help us win the war. Something about a weapon or a device the Klingons are developing, and there might be an abandoned research facility in the mountains."

    "But that would be ours," Tilly comments, frowning.

    "Yes, or of the first missions that went here, which is a couple decades ago. That was Sunbeam Inc., and after their insolvency, all their data got lost in a raid on their servers, so we don't really know what is in the mountains or what they were working on," Michael explains.

     "That makes no sense though," Hugh interrupts her. "Why send our best pilot and our best fighter deep into the, may I add, very dangerous and basically unexplored mountains close to the enemy's bases, while we'll probably be encountering fights every second day?"

Tilly makes a small sound of disagreement. "You forget that Michael is a scientist first. She's got a degree in accumulative astroscience and a minor in engineering, so. Yeah. I don't like it either, but... Lorca did probably choose the best people for the job," she finishes quietly.

In a rare display of affection, Michael reaches over to pet Tilly's hand.

    "It's going to be fine," she assures her girlfriend.

    "I hope so, yeah," Tilly admits. "It's just - I don't know."

    "You're not a warrior," Hugh supplies. "You came here, like we all did, and you wanted to explore this place. And now... now we fight and we kill and we do all those things that we never wanted. Exploration is about marvelling at the beauty of life, but war is... war is something else."

    "I thought you were soldiers," 19-1026-71 says in surprise.

Hugh scoffs. "No, we're not. Some of us more than others, but we're not predominantly militarily organized. The idea was a structurized discovery and survey of this planet, to see whether we'd be able to establish a permanent, orderly settlement."

    "A colony."

    "Of sorts, yes. Partly to catch the population overspill of Earth, partly to mine, partly to explore. And... well, the Klingons wanted the same, but neither side could agree to just both do that and work together to mine and explore even better. Like two kids, fighting over a toy that would be a lot more fun to play with if they shared it." He doesn't mention what happened, who started it, the explosion, the subsequent fire. The screams. Little Emmet in his arms, desperately gasping for breath and coughing out black.

Hugh shudders and suddenly the oatmeal tastes like flame and bursting concrete and young life, dying already. Alterra had been supposed to be a new start, a new try.

    "Hugh, are you okay?" Tilly's hand is on his shoulder, and he tries to push the images down, smoke cloaking his sinuses and dust on his white doctor's garb.

His sleeves are camo now, and he hasn't been sterile in a long, long time. They're running low on disinfectant anyways.

    "I gotta go," he says to Tilly, and Michael, and 19-1026-71, an android they make follow him around, with some kind of secret compartment that might hold anything, and maybe it's to check that Hugh doesn't fail again, like he did before.

  
  


The memory stays as a bitter taste in the back of his mouth while he gets started on the second round of muscle regeneration on Owosekun’s leg. He’ll probably be able to discharge Elen today, but Owosekun is still looking far from good. Muscle simply doesn’t regenerate as easily as skin and connective tissue, and with a blast that took of half of her  _ musculus vastus lateralis _ on that leg, she’ll be needing a lot of regeneration. 

    “How are your pain levels, lieutenant?” he asks her gently. 

She grimaces. “It’s okay. I’ve had worse. The regen just feels super uncomfortable.”

Hugh chuckles. “Yeah, they do. It’s because - well, essentially it’s checking in with each of your cells individually whether it’s doing everything correctly, which means that, to make it simple, your body is behaving as though it’s growing at an incredible rate, and that can be uncomfortable or even downright painful. Once the ray is done I can give you something against the pain. Only three more minutes, I don’t want to tax you too much.”

    “Yeah, half an hour per day is more than enough.”

It’s Hugh’s turn to grimace. “Well… I’m going to have to do that three times a day.”

    “Oh, no. Seriously?”

    “Yeah, I prefer not to be murdered by the captain.”

She laughs a little. “Okay, yes, I get that. And… it’s a war, after all.”

    “Weird to think about, isn’t it? I came here to - ha, to take care of kids, and now…” He gestures to their surroundings.

    “What, kids? Really? Ow.”

    “There’s - the air here is different from Earth air, and there was a science project for children with a COPD caused by cancer, and we, well, we believed the air here would help them breathe more easily, slowly repair their airways, you know.”

    “Did it help?”

Hugh thinks back to Emmet. He had his mother’s eyes. That was the first thing he’d noticed about the boy.

    “Yes. Yes, it did. I saw some of them suddenly able to sit up again, start walking again. And then… someone started this war.” He shakes his head and looks down to the tips of his shoes.

    “Did they make it?”

Hugh presses his lips together and swallows harshly. The muscle regen beeps twice, indicating it’s done, and he begins removing the equipment.

    “I’m sorry,” Owosekun says, voice rough. “I shouldn’t - I’m sorry.”

    “We all have our demons,” Hugh replies. “And we all have to live with them. I’m going to get you some of that painkiller I promised.”

  
  


Working helps a little with the memories, even if all he does is get organized, file some things, and check in with Tyler and Owosekun and Elen periodically. Ever since the big orbiters were shot down by the Klingons, they don't get messages from Earth anymore, at least not from their families. Sure, Lorca gets their orders, but those go through Admiral Cornwell first, and not even she has a direct contact to Earth. As for the rest of them - well, Hugh doesn't even know whether his sister got through giving birth okay, hasn't even seen a picture or learned the little one's name, nor does he know how his mother's hip surgery went.

But right now the thing that annoys him most is that he also can't do anything for recreation; can't download a book, can't watch a show or a movie, can't even play an online game. He should probably just head for the gym.

But then again, he's done that every time he’s been bored in the past months, and it's losing its charm. He just wants to sit down and read a damn book every once in a while. Maybe listen to music. There's been no music for him since the war broke out, his private electronic devices either destroyed in the fire or left behind in the subsequent drafting fever the authorities got into. 

Maybe 19-1026-71 has some music files? 

Or maybe not and Hugh will catch another rude remark, something he truly could live without.

    "I'm heading to the gym," he says in the general direction of his patients. "I'm taking the vita bracelet connecting unit, so I'll be right there if you need me. 19, you coming?"

    "Of course," the android replies smoothly, moving directly next to Hugh. 

He really is unfairly pretty, Hugh thinks as he turns towards the door.

  
  


The undercurrent of restless energy that's buzzing under his skin translates itself well into working out, and Hugh manages to work himself into a sweating mess, muscles burning. It's a good thing they have the gym, if nothing else, because all the other ways of working out a hundred soldiers' frustrations would either end in pain and suffering (or their camp being completely immovable with all the stuff they’d need). And at least with this new camp their gym is actually somewhere dry and not submerged in half a foot of mud, as it was during winter in their last camp. 

Hugh closes his eyes again to evade 19-1026-71's stare. Why the android has to follow him around even though they're safe in their camp - well, maybe that's precaution. But the way he keeps staring at Hugh, almost unblinkingly, that's tripping a prey instinct somewhere in the furthest reaches of his animalistic brain. It also doesn't help that Hugh is chronically underfucked.

But... oh. He could take a shower after his workout. Oh hell yes.

Hugh grins with the next rep, which should also be his last, because he doesn't want to work himself to exhaustion.

He gets up and wipes the machine down, puts his jacket on again and heads out to loosen his muscles in a relaxed jog around the exercise square, 19-1026-71 hot on his heels. It’s a mystery to him why the android actually runs with him and doesn't watch from afar. Just like everything else he does.

  
  


The fact that he can have a hot shower is still so damn nice that Hugh wishes he could stay in there forever, like he froze over in the winter and is only now slowly thawing. He wastes absolutely no time getting a generously soaped up hand on his dick, the organ responding immediately. His knees turn weak almost immediately as well, and he hopes to whatever deity might be around that he gets his orgasm this one damn time.

The first moan that comes out of his mouth is broken and a little too loud but he can't stop now, not when the faces and bodies of past lovers and fantasies coagulate into something semi-tangible, an ideal fantasy of touch and safety and sheer hot-blooded pleasure.

Hugh keeps teasing the tip of his dick, easily stimulating himself into hypersensitivity, and he's close, close, close, the water rushing down onto his shoulders, losing himself in the feeling of his hand on his skin, the idea of a hot body to press against, his balls high and tight, and he keeps gasping into the humid air around him, because he needs to come, so badly, and -

The release catches him completely unawares and he closes his fist tighter, his strokes getting more desperate, every catch on the tip of his dick sending more lightning down his spine, the vision of blue eyes and pale skin almost noticeably close to him, close enough to touch, fingers on his skin and breath against his neck, hair tickling his ear a little. Hugh groans at the almost-pain of the orgasm and then the sweet relaxation that follows, clouding his mind a little.

The shower rinses him right off and he can't help but smile. Who knew an orgasm could feel that good?

A small, stupid part of him wants to have another and another and another until he can't even open his eyes anymore, his entire body hurting with pleasure, nudge his fingers inside his body and make himself scream.

Or maybe he should just have a nap.

Hugh rinses himself off, the smile remaining on his face. He almost skips out of the shower to dry himself off, humming a half-forgotten song, his orgasm still making his skin tingle a little.

  
  


19-1026-71 is standing in his room, staring completely expressionless at a wall. Hugh claps him on the shoulder.

    "Hey, remember how I said I might eventually need a hand around the 'bay and that I'd like to teach you? How about it? Are you still interested?"

The android stares at him with a comical expression.

    "Um. Yes?"

    "Amazing! Come on, let's get started!"

  
  


Working with 19-1026-71 turns out to be a lot of fun, because every now and then again he lets his humor show, snappish and sarcastic and precisely up Hugh's alley.

  
  


    "Right, it's almost two pm, so I'm going to have to give Owosekun her second round of muscle regeneration. You wanna watch?" Hugh asks 19-1026-71, moving over to the lieutenant, who grimaces already. "How are you feeling, Joann?"

    "Does it hurt so that once you're healed you can run away from the doctors, thus alerting them to your recovery?" she asks.

Hugh grins. "Well, usually we count on our patients telling us something before running away, but in this case you might just be right."

    "Is there no alternative?" the android asks, peering over Hugh's shoulder.

    "'Fraid not. Or, well, none that we have access to at the moment."

    "Then why not wait? Does it have something to do with Captain Lorca feeding you your genitals?"

Owosekun snorts. "What?!"

Hugh types on the muscle regen's screen and hides his grin. "Yes, it has exactly to do with that."

He throws the android a look. "Well - technically, yes, it has. I have to treat everyone and get them back on their legs as soon as possible. Literally get them back on their legs in some cases. Now, see, here's what you do..."

  
  


After putting the poor lieutenant through her second round, Hugh finally gets to take stock of his entire medbay, introducing 19-1026-71 to every drug he has.

    "What are you going to do when you run out?" the android asks eventually, carefully sorting through the various packages and putting them back into their alphabetical order, because Hugh is a little extra and likes his work things in perfect order.

    "Make do without?" he answers. "See what I can find in nature, what we might be able to salvage from Klingon planes we take down, hope nobody gets injured, hope we get our supplies on schedule."

    "And if that doesn't happen?"

Hugh gives him a look. "Well, this is a war."

    "But-" 19-1026-71 has never looked this distressed. "What if people are in pain? What if they're going to die?"

    "Well, then they're going to die."

The android stares at the package of Paracetamol in his hands. "And that doesn't - doesn't scare you? That you're going to have to watch them die? I thought - you see, I thought the grandest characteristic of humans was to care for each other, that each human cares, on a fundamental level. But..."

    "I care," Hugh says softly. "I do. But sometimes that's all I can do. I'm not a soldier, 19, I was drafted. The Klingons blew up the hospital I was working in, and within half an hour of the flames having been put out, my name had appeared on a list and I met Captain Lorca. I'm not army trained; hell, I'm not even exactly trained to deal with the kind of injuries I encounter here. I'm a paediatrician, and we were researching cures for, um, for a lung disease predominantly found in kids who had - well, to make it short, there were kids, we were trying to cure them and meanwhile Alterra's air is just different enough to Earth's that it improved the kids' condition."

    "But they had to go home when the war started?" 19-1026-71's eyes are blue and hopeful and Hugh wants to drown in them instead of facing the memories.

    "They went to a better place." His voice feels hollow. "Come on, let's... let's get these meds sorted out and then we'll get the dermal regen oscillator over to Tilly so she can fix it."

  
  


They find Tilly elbows-deep in the guts of the Klingon plane. Hugh raps twice on the still-attached wing to announce their presence.

    "Find anything interesting?" he calls.

Tilly pulls her head back and squints at him. She's got a smear of engine grease over her nose, which is absolutely adorable.

    "Nothing I'd like to find, per se."

    "What's that supposed to mean?"

   "Well, we've got a whole lot of stuff here, a couple cool gadgets, but not what I'm looking for."

Hugh crouches down next to her and peers into the plane's belly. "What are you looking for, then?"

    "Lorca believes the Klingons have built - or are building - a cloaking device for their planes. And considering how close we are to the Klingons now, and how we're on the fourth rotation of patrol and except for the attack when we arrived here, we haven't seen any Klingon planes yet and haven't been engaged yet either, I'm starting to believe it. Something's very fishy here."

    "A cloaking device? Really?"

    "Think about it, Hugh. Think about how most of the time when we get attacked, we have less than ten minutes to react because they're already so close. And... sure, at first it was plausible that it was just people being untrained, undisciplined. But consider all the drills Lorca had run, how tough he was on everyone, how much he did the "always be vigilant" thing... you know, all the crap he put us through? Sure, it was necessary, and we are fighting a war, but wouldn't you think that we'd finally spot the Klingon planes a bit earlier? So it has to be something like a cloaking device, or a way they can deceive our sensors otherwise."

    "And Lorca thinks that if you take that plane apart you'll find it?"

    "Yup."

    "So... Lieutenant Tyler, our man, the pilot of this plane - was his job to bring one of the planes back as intact as possible?"

Hugh shrugs. "Hell if I know. Ever since his talk with Lorca, the guy has been more or less sleeping the day away. He's in bad shape."

    "Will he make it?"

    "Oh yeah. Just maybe not as quick as Lorca wants. Look, Tilly, I dropped my dermal oscillator regen off at the workshop, some idiots broke it yesterday by handling it incorrectly, and I fear I'm going to need it back asap." 

The low buzzing of planes returning draws nearer, and they both look up immediately.

    "Are the patrols only seven units now?" Hugh asks incredulously.

    "Yeah. Something about how we need to preserve forces in case of an attack. I think. Michael wasn't very clear, and she didn't have time to, um, to elaborate. She's been in talks with the captain and Saru for the better part of the day."

They watch the planes circle and land, rolling to a stop in an almost perfect line.

    "I'm going to head over, see whether they're all okay," Hugh says. "You get back to me on the osci, yeah?"

    "Sure!" Tilly bounces over to give Hugh a quick peck on the cheek. "You take care of yourself, okay, Hugh? And don't hesitate to come see me if you need anything."

Hugh smiles. "You're a sweet kid, Tilly. Thank you."

  
  


Maybe Tilly is right, Hugh ponders, heading over to the returned soldiers. They obviously didn't see any Klingon planes, even though they must've come within a few clicks of a confirmed active base - they weren't engaged at all, as if they’d essentially just taken a couple hour scenic flight over Alterra. It's a little worrying if Hugh is honest with himself, because not knowing where the enemy is or where they might strike and how suddenly he could have a ton of dead and dying people on his hand is not a nice thought to have.

    "Yo, doc!" one of the soldiers calls over to him. It's Gerrick, who's... not exactly a friend of Hugh's.

    "Gerrick," he greets. "You have a good flight?"

    "Oh yeah. 'S all smooth sailing out here. Wonder why everyone was makin' such a fuss. I hear you even got a bot for the stationing here. That it? Don’t look like much."

An odd feeling of protectiveness surges up in Hugh's chest.

    "Yeah."

    "Well, hey, better than a second Burnham, am I right? But, yeah, we got nothin' to report and all. All we did was waste some fuel, same as the guys before us."

    "Hah, I say the ridge-guys are gone," a second soldier chimes in with a broad grin.

Hugh groans internally. Gerrick  _ and _ Abrams? What god could he have pissed off  _ that _ much?

    "Don't break our lucky streak now," is all he replies.

    "What, why? You need to lighten up a little, doc," Abrams exclaims. He moves over to clap 19-1026-71 on the shoulder. "Look, you got this precious piece of robotics here to protect you twice as good as everyone else, you got nothing to worry 'bout. Good god, maybe get laid or something."

Anger curls hotly in Hugh's stomach, but before he can say something, 19-1026-71 makes a sudden, swift movement, bone cracks and Abrams stumbles back with an anguished howl, cradling his wrist. The android conceals a smirk and Hugh is oddly proud.

    "I don't appreciate being talked about like that," 19-1026-71 snaps.

They immediately attract a crowd.

    "Fuck, wish I knew what the captain is thinking. First Burnham, now a, what, a M7G?" a voice asks.

    "Yeah. One of the crazy ones. Fucking hell, man."

Hugh empathically does not have violent tendencies. Usually, that is.

    "Everyone who doesn't have anything better to do than stand around and be jackasses can come with me, get your mandatory physicals," he calls out, moving to stand a little closer to 19-1026-71, turning to survey the crowd. Suddenly people stop meeting his eyes.

    "But they're only every six months," someone complains.

    "Will you shut the  _ fuck up _ , Am!" someone else retaliates.

 "So, who wants to go first?” Hugh says. “Nobody? Yeah, thought as much. Move along, guys, and you better keep your mouths shut." He fixes Gerrick and Abrams, who's still clutching his wrist, with a glare. "Especially you two assholes. Is that a way to talk about your fellow soldiers?"

The two men stare everywhere but at Hugh.

    "One day you might need their help, and personally I'd be less inclined to help you if you'd talked about me behind my back."

Gerrick spits. "What, you prefer we make friends with a murderer and a bot? We're not that desperate, Culber."

    "Burnham didn't murder." Anger is making Hugh's knees unsteady. He hates it. He hates being angry in general, how it makes him insecure and shaky, but he isn't willing to let anyone talk about his friends like that.

    "Sure. Bet Cap'n Georgiou just fell over dead one day."

    "Captain Georgiou, God rest her soul, was poisoned. Her camp doctor confirmed it."

    "Yeah, no shit man, I'd be poisoned too if my First stabbed me with something," Gerrick exclaims.

    "Dude, drop it." At least Abrams is starting to develop some common sense.

    "Drop it? Fuck no I won't. We got a goddamn murderer around, and everyone hails her as the second fucking coming of Christ!"

Hugh moves towards him in a split second and grabs the man by his collar. 

    "You fucking listen to me, Gerrick. First of all, you can't prove  _ shit _ about Burnham, and I'm pretty damn sure the only reason you shit talk her this much is because you know she’s miles better than you’ll ever be, and you're either scared of her, or you're jealous. And second - you touch 19 again, you talk to him again, you so much as breathe in his direction, and I will end you. Now get your friend to sickbay and you better be on your best fucking behavior when we show up there. Understood?"

Gerrick swallows harshly and nods. "Sir, yes, sir."

Hugh lets go of him with a jerk and steps back. "Dismissed," he snaps.

The two soldiers turn tail and run. Hugh scoffs a little under his breath before turning back to 19-1026-71.

    "You okay?" he asks, the odd protective feeling still there somewhere.

19-1026-71 nods.

    "Of course. What were they saying about Michael?"

Hugh sighs. "Let's, uh, let's head back to medbay, fix up Abrams, look after the other three, and then I'll tell you, okay? It's a little difficult."

  
  


Abrams and Gerrick are sufficiently subdued, even though Gerrick keeps glaring at 19-1026-71. Hugh lets it slide, because he doesn't enjoy fighting.

Owosekun and Elen are in pretty good spirits, and Elen's wound is healing nicely as well. She'll likely be fully recovered by tomorrow.

Tyler is sitting up for once, and he smiles shakily at Hugh when asked how he feels. Hugh tells him that he can get up and start moving around anytime he wants, as long as he alerts Hugh the first time he feels like getting up. They end up getting Tyler on his feet right there and then, and the smile on the man's face is more than worth it.

    "You feel okay?" Hugh asks him. "Not dizzy or shaky or... no? Great, okay, then you're officially cleared to do as you please. I want you to sleep here for a while longer, and you're definitely not cleared for duty yet. Showers are in the main building, second level, to the right of the staircase. Just in case you were wondering." Hugh winks and Tyler laughs a little.

    "Thank you, sir."

    "It's Hugh. And don't worry about it. Just... be a little careful with yourself, yeah?"

    "Thank you, Hugh."

    "Oh, and, another thing: the captain might want to grill you again. If you need to opt out because you're not feeling so hot, do that. Tell him you need a break, and that I ordered that, and if he's got a problem with that he can take it up with me. Okay?"

    "Okay. Thank you. I think I'll be fine."

19-10-26-71 watches Tyler go with a slight frown. 

    "Why did you think he was going to need help getting up?" he asks.

    "Protocol," Hugh replies with a shrug. "He's a tall guy, but it goes for everyone - you spend a longer while lying down, you hit your head, I want to be there when you stand up for the first time. Now, he's a young man too, so I let him go on his own. You wouldn't do that with elderly patients, or after a major surgery, or if you were able to give your patient ample time to recover, and normally I'd put him on crutches and give him a proper leg brace, but, well."

The android nods. "Tell me about Michael now?"

    "Let's head somewhere more private," Hugh suggests.


	6. VI.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello and welcome back to a hundred sunrises!  
> also i'm sorry the chapter is so late today i was busy loving john boyega and being absolutely terrified of my exam tomorrow, which i haven't studied for like... at all and don't know shit about so i guess i'll spend my remaining twelve hours until then with cramming :) fun times!  
> for everyone else who's having finals at the moment too, i wish you the absolute best of luck and always remember not to panic <3 you can do this!
> 
> in this chapter y'all are getting a ton of backstory (bonus points if you can tell me ~~where i stole the idea from~~ what inspired me)!  
>  also, there's kiiiind of graphicish mentions of blood and death from _shakeshakeshakeshake_ to about three paragraphs later.
> 
> other than that, i hope you enjoy it! i've been reading all your comments, and i'm so incredibly happy so many people still like this story so much :3  
> also i hope i can stick to the posting schedule (TWO chapters next week, because christmas happens to be on a sunday) and not accidentally fall down a stormpilot hole to never be seen again :D

Somewhere more private turns out to be the staircase to Hugh's room. It's cold and made from sheer concrete and it feels a little like the place Hugh used to hang out with his friends in high school when they were skipping lessons and later with his first boyfriend, but somehow he fears he's less likely to be kissed here.

    "Right. So. First of all, you have to promise me not to tell anyone. Michael is a great person, and I don't want to hear her badmouthed more than she already is."

    "Alright."

    "So, here's the thing," Hugh begins, leaning forward to put his weight on his elbows. "Michael isn't originally from this squadron. She was part of the early explorer force, in her case the Shenzhou project under Captain Georgiou with Michael as her first officer. They were supposed to explore this place, catalogue it, map it out, all those things. Then the war broke out, and her squadron turned into a fighting squadron as well. They all had regular army training, like everyone who's part of an exploring force, but none of them were actually soldiers. Michael was probably the most soldier-like explorer out there, but that's only because she learned martial arts. Then, her squadron was able to engage the Klingon ringleader, a guy called T'Kuvma, who - well, he saw himself as the second coming of the Klingon messiah. And... everyone thought that since he was the great unifier of the Klingons, if we were able to capture him, we'd end the war. Unfortunately, Georgiou and Michael ended up killing him. Georgiou was badly wounded in the fight - poisoned, I think - and eventually she begged Michael to put her out of her misery."

    "And did Michael...?"

    "Yeah. The only problem is that they were five days out from their camp, so no one else was there to witness Georgiou’s death. They did find traces of a very strong poison in Georgiou's blood, but of course nobody could prove that Michael didn't kill her to further her career. So Michael would ordinarily have gone to prison, but Lorca wanted her on his squad, because not only is she a brilliant scientist, she's also a great and very unorthodox fighter."

    "But now everyone thinks Michael murdered her captain?"

Hugh nods. "Exactly. The thing is - this is a war, we don't have a link to Earth, and, well, when you're not on patrol, the hours turn long. A lot of soldiers on our side now are bought soldiers, too, so they're not exactly the most, well, how do I say that? They're not the most civil and best educated people, so they're not likely to read a book, and what's better than some intriguing gossip told by campfire? Stories spread fast."

    "That is not - I don't think I'd like to hear something like that about myself."

    "Neither would I. I don't know how Michael manages to keep her head up all the time. Unfortunately, it's - there are a lot of idiots around in this squadron."

    "Did she murder her captain though?"

Hugh scoffs. "Oh, no, I don't think so. Michael is not that kind of person. She might be very up in arms about her opinions sometimes, but usually that's because she wants to save people. She needs to learn to back down a little on occasion, but she's a good person."

19-1026-71 nods, contemplating.

    "But - the Klingon’s... you called him their messiah... he died, and the Klingons are still at war?"

    "Yeah. T'Kuvma is seen as a martyr now, and they're even more hellbent on winning this war."

    "And what's going to happen if they do win the war?"

    "Well, we'll probably be enslaved and put to work. There are stories about Klingon prisons, and Klingon work facilities, and - let's say I'd prefer if we'd win the war."

The android makes an odd sound. "Yes, I'm sure being enslaved would be horrible."

Hugh grimaces. 

    "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. Or - well."

    "It's weird," 19-1026-71 says, sounding like he's lost in thought. "I always assume that my... the other androids, that they must hate living - or existing the way they do. But... maybe they don't. Maybe - maybe, maybe we're all walking through life on our own. Does that make sense?"

Hugh chuckles. "Well, look at that. I wouldn't have taken you for a philosopher."

    "I'm just wondering - you seem to have your place in the world, and so does Michael, and so does Tilly and... everyone else, even if for some people that means being a professional soldier."

    "And you're wondering where your place is?"

    "Yes." The android looks at him with bright blue eyes. "I'm different, aren't I? I never - I met a few androids before, and they've been... well, they've been treated in a similar fashion to how those two soldiers treated me, but it didn't seem to upset them."

    "You're different," Hugh says in a low voice. "You - I know we only call it syn-soul, but for me, as a doctor, a soul is a soul. And a soul is what makes us all human, I think. I interned in a ward for vegetables for a while, you know, people who are only kept alive by machines, who are mentally already completely gone, and... I remember one of the weirdest things we had to do was check the patients' pupils every morning. I don't even remember why, but I remember how most of them weren't - they weren't alive anymore. Like, their hearts were beating and they were breathing or intubated, but they didn't feel alive. Didn't look alive. That's kind of how bots - sorry, androids - have always looked to me. Dead, just an imitation of life. But..." He shakes his head. "You're different. I can't say why, but I think it's your eyes. They're - you're alive in ways no other android is, I think." He looks up to find 19-1026-71 staring at him, mouth slightly slack. "Sorry, I didn't mean - I don't want to insult you. I'm sorry, that went too far, I shouldn't have -"

The android reaches out to tentatively put a hand on his shoulder. "Don't apologize," he whispers, swallowing. "That's the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me."

    "Oh," Hugh replies intelligently. To think the android has never had someone be nice to him. And it's not like Hugh has been entirely kind. He’s yelled at him, he’s looked down on him, he's been snappish and impatient and impolite and... not racist, but - android-ist?

    "I'm sorry," he repeats a little dumbly. "I -"

    "No, you have nothing to be sorry for! I'm... is this what being happy feels like?"

Hugh looks at the smile on the android's face, his upturned brows and those bright blue eyes. 

    "Yes, that's what being happy feels like. But - look, 19, I still have a lot to apologize for. I haven't been - I wasn't particularly nice to you, and -"

    "Don't worry about it. It's... alright. You were stressed, and -"

    "And that doesn't make it okay."

19-1026-71 shrugs, still smiling. "Water under the bridge. You defended me against those two soldiers. That was - that was so nice of you. Thank you."

And that, too, gives Hugh a decidedly guilty stab to the stomach. The fact that the android doesn't think it's normal, that Hugh has been so unforgiving and cold towards him that he feels like he has to thank Hugh for doing that, that hurts. As it should, because it's Hugh who has misbehaved.

So he nods and smiles at the android, who smiles back, and Hugh's heart is beating weirdly in his chest.

    "Oh my god, there you guys are!" 

Hugh's heart jumps again, but this time for different reasons.

    "Hi, Tilly. You scared me."

    "I'm so sorry to interrupt you guys, you looked like you were having a moment," she smiles. "But! I've got the osci running again, and it wants, uh, a systems diagnostic? And to be booted up correctly? And, like, I don't want to break anything, so I didn't do anything about that. So, um, if you could just take a look at that, that'd be awesome."

  
  


So they do, and after that they get dinner, and Hugh forgets the odd little moment they had.

Tyler awkwardly joins them for dinner, Tilly immediately making space for him. She's great at making people feel welcome, and dinner turns out to be pretty fun.

Afterwards, Hugh lets 19-1026-71 run the next round of muscle regen on Owosekun while he fixes up the last little bits and pieces of Elen's wound before discharging her, with an order to take it very damn easy for the next week, and then suddenly he's got problems keeping his eyes open and decides to head to bed.

  
  


19-1026-71 is staring at him inquisitively when Hugh gets out of the bathroom.

    "You didn't shower,"  he remarks almost casually.

Hugh chokes a little on his own spit, because showering has, well, a connotation.

    "Uh. No? Should I?"

    "I thought you'd shower every evening."

    "Well, um, I've taken three showers today, and even though two of them were rather short, it's probably better for my skin to not shower again. So. Uh. Yeah."

    "Okay. Good night."

Hugh heads over to his bed. The android flicks out the lights, and then Hugh curls up again, facing the wall, 19-1026-71's presence oddly comforting at his back.

  
  


_ Shakeshakeshakeshakeshake  _

Hugh's entire world is wobbling oddly and the light flicks on, scorchingly bright against his sleepy eyes.

    "Wake up! Doctor Culber! Wake up!" The android's fingers are harsh on Hugh's shoulder.

Hugh blinks and the backs of his eyes are hurting.

    "What is it?"

Then he hears the explosions, the planes, the gunfire, and he's out of his bed in a second, across the room and tugging on his clothes, out the door and down the stairs before he's finished putting on his jacket. There's nobody in his medbay yet, but he kicks open the doors and surveys the scene. The fight is a little ways off, so he can only hear it and see the explosions like lightning against the dark night sky.

He kneels to tie his laces, fingers mercifully not shaking, and goes to grab his first aid kit. 19-1026-71 is right behind him and he presses another kit into the android's hands.

    "Doesn't matter if you don't really know how to use it," he explains quickly. "Better you have it than nobody."

  
  


Once they've rounded the medbay's building, they can see the battle in its full glory with every flash that lights up the sky. 

    "What is the protocol?" 19-1026-71 asks, voice louder so Hugh hears him over the explosions and the gunfire.

A plane is hit right in the fuel tank and it goes down burning, spiralling, before impacting on the water, fire extinguished and metal swallowed by the unforgiving sea. Hugh feels like they'll be digging a lot of graves the next days.

    "What do we do now?" 19-1026-71 asks.

Hugh pretends for his own sake that he didn't hear the quiver in the android's voice, that neither of them are scared.

    "We wait."

  
  


So they wait, Hugh's stomach cramping up more and more with every passing second, every explosion. They can hear Lorca on the radio, continuously, and more and more planes starting, some coming back to refuel, reload.

And then the first plane doesn't lift off again and Hugh's hands are stained with blood in an instant, trying to still bleeding, repeating mindless phrases of "it's all going to be okay" over and over again, barking orders at 19-1026-71 while another soldier is brought in, and the first bleeding is barely stilled before there's the next soldier in need of aid, and there's a pulse dying right under Hugh's fingers.

And then there are the other injuries. The worse ones. The screaming ones. The crying ones. The choked whimpering ones. The toneless ones.

  
  


Dawn comes and gives way to morning.

Not everyone sees that morning. 

Hugh doesn't even feel his feet starting to ache, and his shoulders and his back and his fingers. He doesn't have time to change into another uniform, one that's not bloody and dirty and decidedly not sterile.

He doesn't have the time to note down the times of death. He doesn't even remember, really, just that some died instantly, some died around dawn, others later. 

19-1026-71 covers some immovable figures with blankets, but then they run out of bandages and Hugh has him cut the blankets up, revealing the pale faces beneath.

  
  


It stops. Eventually, it stops. 

But Hugh does another round, and another, re-binding wounds and checking bandages and inserting IVs and distributing meds and eventually it's just taking vital signs and marking them down for the first time, wracking his brain to remember who he gave which meds, what injuries they even have, and his stylus is shaking in his hand, oddly detached.

  
  


Lorca kicks the doors open just as Hugh is standing in front of a cot whose inhabitant will never get up again. He tries to forget the sound of her laughter.

    "Talk to me, Culber. How bad is it?"

What do you even say to that? Hugh's fingers are cold.

    "Eight dead, the rest will hopefully recover," a voice says from somewhere, and Hugh doesn't even know whether it's him or 19-1026-71.

    "How long until they recover?"

Hugh swallows emptily, unable to tear his eyes from the lifeless shape in front of him.

    "A week? Maybe more? I don't know."

    "Well, you got a week and not a day more."

    "Sir..."

Lorca's eyes are glaciers, immovable, cold, ignorant.

    "A week, Culber. I've got a war to win here, and I'd prefer if I didn't have to tell Admiral Cornwell that half my squadron is dead because my doctor is an incompetent idiot. Get to work. We'll have graves in the morning."

Lorca leaves. Hugh stays, staring down at the young ensign in front of him.

  
  


One after the other, every bed is visited, some with tears, others with teary laughter. Hugh does his job.

  
  


They run out of the good painkillers in the evening. The coffee 19-1026-71 brings him tastes like tar.

  
  


Few sleep. Hugh's eyes blur with digital signs and numbers that he needs to understand and act on. The coffee 19-1026-71 brings him tastes like brine.

  
  


He wishes he could cover the dead up. He stumbles over a wire, almost falling. A lightning-quick hand catches him and the contact terrifies him. All these quiet pale faces are because Hugh failed at his job. He simultaneously wants to be held and to never have to touch another human again.

  
  


He catalogues times of death, making half of them up, causes of death, extrapolating from memories he knows he'll never forget but that are already hazy in his mind, overdoses half of his living patients on painkillers because they are begging him and he can't let them suffer instead.

  
  


It's two AM and they're almost out of painkillers, most people sleeping, some of them forever, and the coffee 19-1026-71 brings him tastes like the bitterness of a thousand deaths and little Emmet in his arms. Hugh wants to crawl into his mom's lap and never leave again, but the PADD in front of him is demanding his attention and so he keeps cataloguing, keeps responding to his patients' calls for help, redresses wounds and repeats meaningless platitudes.

  
  


Four AM and the world is starting to spin a little. They're out of painkillers. Hugh refuses the coffee.

  
  


Six AM and he wishes he could help those crying in pain.

  
  


Eight AM and the sun is fully there and he steps outside the medbay for the first time, body aching all over, feeling like he aged a hundred years in the past twenty four hours or so.

There's a body only a few meters away from the door. Hugh feels like he's wading through water. When he kneels, his knees protest. He looks for a pulse. There is none. He stares down at his dirty hands, bloody and muddy and whatever other substances he touched, engine grease and whatever black powder makes the guns of this century go.

There's someone talking to him from far away, and Hugh wants to lie down in the sand and cry.

    "You need to sleep," 19-1026-71 repeats. "Come on, get up, go shower and go to bed. I'll stay in medbay."

  
  


The android almost has to physically shove him up the stairs, and then Hugh's body works on autopilot again, stripping the soiled uniform off of him and getting into the shower. The water starts to hit him, and there he stays, arms and head hanging.

He doesn't know how he makes it into his bed, but once he's curled up his body is crying in relief, though Hugh's eyes stay dry. He wishes he could cry, but he can't. 

The black unconsciousness of sleep is almost a relief.

  
  


Some time later Hugh is woken up again, and he barely manages to force his body to roll around to respond and look up at the intruder. 

Fuzzy bright red hair comes into view, pale skin and cold fingers at the sensitive flesh of his neck.

    "Hi, sorry to wake you, but we need your help in medbay," she whispers.

Hugh groans and drags hand over his face. "What time is it?" he asks.

    "Three PM, I'm sorry to wake wake you, I know you need your sleep, but it's urgent," Tilly reiterates.

Hugh slowly rolls out of the bed and puts on his uniform again. At least he’s got a fresh one.

    "Okay, what is it?"

    "I think I managed to superpower the regenerators, but I'd like you to take a look before we try it out."

Hugh slips into his boots and ties them up.

    "I think I won't mind being woken for something like that. That sounds good," he admits, hoping that it really is what Tilly is saying and not another disaster.

  
  


Hugh can feel the strain of the day before in his muscles, body protesting having to be out and about again, and he has to force his eyes to focus on the screens Tilly is showing him. Michael is there too, somewhere, puttering around in the background.

Together they run diagnostics and tests and a small part of Hugh heals when he sees muscle and skin regenerating faster than he's ever seen it before, when he sees frowns of pain lessen ever so slightly. 

  
  


They have a meal sometime, and suddenly Hugh realizes that he's starving.

    "You know, you're probably the first one who I've seen so overjoyed about whatever it is this is supposed to be," Tilly comments, ever the cheerful one.

    "He hasn't eaten in over a day," 19-1026-71 comments, and even though Hugh is far too preoccupied with eating to look up, he can practically  _ hear _ Tilly's face fall.

    "I'm - oh, I'm sorry, that was, um."

    "It's fine," Hugh says. "I'm just, yeah, I'm really hungry."

    "How does it look in medbay?" Michael asks.

Hugh shrugs. "Lorca wants everyone recovered within the week. I don't even know how I'm going to medicate half of them over the rest of the day."

    "You're out of pain meds?"

    "Yeah. Out of all of them. Now, Lorca might be a hard son of a bitch who would rather die than ask for help, but I've got people who can't even pass out from the pain because it's too much. Sure, they'll heal, but I'd prefer for them to - to feel better."

    "But shouldn't supplies be coming today?" Tilly asks.

    "Wait, really?" Hugh's head snaps up.

    "Yeah! Saru confirmed it, at least according to Michael."

Hugh can't help but smile. "That's - that would be amazing. Really."

  
  


And true to Tilly's - and Michael's and Saru's - word, there are a handful of trucks rolling into the camp at just past dinner. Hugh spots the medical one within seconds and grabs 19-1026-71.

    "Come on, we've got to get pain meds first."

    "Are we allowed to just -"

    "I don't care what we're allowed to do. This is a medical emergency, and I better get those meds. Most other things can wait, even bandages, but I don't want to see anyone suffer anymore."

  
  


It turns into another long day and Hugh's body is protesting again by the time he nears his bed, but he's oddly happy. If he were still working at a hospital, there's no way he would leave work the way it is - messy, unorganized and with a truckload of boxes yet to be unpacked, but by the look of it, they got a lot of supplies and also pretty much what they need, meaning someone at the Federation had been working with their brain on, and that is honestly all Hugh can ask for. He can organize in the morning.

19-1026-71's presence is strangely comforting, Hugh thinks, and it's the last thing he thinks before drifting off into blissful unconsciousness.

  
  
  


The next day doesn't leave him much time to consider how much he's growing to depend on the android. 19-1026-71 is quick on the uptake (which surprisingly isn't a characteristic of many androids), needs little to no instruction to work alone (also a relatively rare characteristic in androids), and most importantly, the work he does alone doesn't follow a binary system of logic as if he were a computer, but instead he thinks like a real person.

  
  


Hugh gets the first break sometime around noon, which he immediately decides to spend eating two solid helpings of whatever they're being served today.

To his surprise, the mess hall is packed, and the food smell is so delicious his stomach complains immediately. 19-1026-71 throws him a funny look.

    "Are you okay?"

    "I am  _ starving _ , 19, and you know what this smells like?"

The android stares at him.

    "It smells like the first proper meal I've had in  _ months _ , 19. This is - for me, right now, this is what happiness feels like."

    "That is worrying," the android retorts, but there's a smile sitting in the corners of his mouth.

  
  


Hugh  manages to power through licking his medbay into shape again with the force of a good hot meal in his stomach. He catches himself humming an opera halfway through, which is probably why everyone who's more or less able to think clearly is looking at him weirdly, but he feels good.

    "Why are you doing that?" 19-1026-71 asks eventually.

    "Doing what? The humming?"

    "Yes."

    "I'm -" Hugh closes the cabinet he just stocked. "I'm happy. Um, we're fully stocked again, I've got a very good chance of healing everyone fully, I just had my first proper meal in forever, and it tasted amazing and things are finally looking like they'll turn out okay again, and I'm happy."

    "What are you humming?"

    "Oh, it's, um, it's an opera called "The Magic Flute". I don't know whether you've... heard of it?" 

He probably hasn't, Hugh realizes in the split second that it takes the words to leave his mouth. No, of course he hasn't, because he's probably never been to an opera, maybe he doesn't even know what operas are, and it's pretty rude to just -

    ""The Magic Flute"?"

    "Yes. It's an opera about -"

    "I know what it's about. My creator used to listen to that kind of music."

Oh.

    "I wouldn't have recognized it based on your humming though."

_ Oh. _

    "You do not seem to be particularly musically skilled. Perhaps you should refrain from humming." And 19-1026-71 turns away again, leaving Hugh to gawp at him. 

Rude.

    "Okay, first of all, I'm great at music. I may not exactly have a singing voice, but I used to play the saxophone. I can read sheet music, and -"

    "When did you play the saxophone?"

    "What? Oh, in high school and a little in college."

    "That was a while ago, wasn't it?"

    "What?" Hugh turns around completely to face the android. "That doesn't matter. It's like riding a bike."

    "I don't know how to do that."

    "See!"

    "But it has nothing to do with your claim of being great at music. I have perfect hearing, and there is no way I could've known it was from "The Magic Flute" if you hadn't told me."

    "I - that - that's just rude."

    "No, that's a fact."

Hugh is a little bit hurt. "Well, if I'm such a bad singer or hummer, according to you, then why don't you prove to me that you're better. Otherwise you're just being unfair."

19-1026-71 finishes coiling up the wire and puts it on its hooks.

    "Okay." He clears his throat a little. "Um. What do you want me to sing?"

    "I don't know. Something."

    "Right."

And then he sings, and Hugh forgets to breathe a little. There's something subconsciously shy about how 19-1026-71 is standing there, arms loosely at his side, eyes somewhere to the side of Hugh. His voice is warm and gentle and he slurs some of the words with feeling. 

It’s a love song, Hugh realizes after the first few sentences, something about cuddling and holding onto someone and being in love with them.

He stops after just a single verse and shrugs. "See? So much better than you."

    "Holy shit. You mind singing me to sleep every night?"

    "Do I bore you that much?" There's some of that early hostility back in the android's voice.

    "No, I mean - you have an amazing voice, 19."

    "It seemed important to my creator for some reason."

    "It's great. You have a great voice."

19-1026-71 ducks his head and smiles a little. "Thank you. Even though I suppose it's not my own accomplishment, it's just... programming, and engineering and all that."

    "Yeah, no, I don't think so. I think - I mean, you've got a soul. There's - that kind of stuff evolves and changes, and... you know?" Amazing. He's as eloquent as when he tried asking Nick Jason out for prom.

But the smile on 19-1026-71's face is worth it. "Thank you. That's very nice of you to say."

And Hugh wants to get a bit more in depth, wants to explain how yes, there's actual logic in saying that 19-1026-71 is a  _ person _ as opposed to a sophisticated computer, but he feels like all he'll do is trip over his own words and either make a fool out of himself or insult the android, and he'd prefer not to do either.

  
  


They sit with Tilly, Michael and Ash again for dinner, Tilly talking a mile a minute about something Hugh can't even begin to understand, but Michael and Ash listen in rapture. As does 19-1026-71.

    "So what you're saying is that the battle would've been over more quickly if you had gotten to install that - what did you call it again?" Ash asks.

    "I called it Thomas because it sounds so much nicer than a technological term." Tilly smiles sweetly, and Ash laughs a little in response.

    "Thomas, then. If you'd installed a, um, a Thomas on every plane's wing, you're saying the battle would've been over faster, right?"

    "Ayup. And I'm going to make sure that I do that. Well, I already know that Thomas probably saved a loooot of people, but... still."

    "So you are actually a genius," Ash exclaims.

    "Wait, are you saying what I think you're saying? That you  _ understand _ Thomas, how it works?"

    "Yeah, I mean, basically -"

Hugh tunes the rest of the conversation out, smiling to himself. Tilly is a genius, of course, and he's hardly surprised that some of the new lights he saw flashing during the battle were due to a invention of hers, but listening to her gadgets being explained usually hurt Hugh's brain. Her newest line of toys, as she calls them, has something to do with molecular manipulation of the air. Or something. And Hugh doesn't have the first clue about chemistry or physics or whatever it is she's playing around with.

    "So where did you learn all of that?" Ash is completely fascinated. It's cute.

    "Well, um, I went to MIT, but they kicked me out because I kind of... there was a bit of a miscalculation, and apparently rupturing the foundation of one of the lecture halls wasn't quite within the rules, and... yeah. But then I was also at this science fair where I met this amazing woman, Eun Son, and, uh, well, she works for IGRG, and she really liked some of the stuff I'd been working on and then she offered me a paid internship with her, which was really amazing, and then eventually I set out to here, and -"

    "Eun Son?" 19-1026-71 interrupts with wide eyes.

    "Yeah, you know her? I mean, duh, of course you know her, she created the M7G's and... well, literally every other robot, and she invented the syn-soul and - everything, you know, but I mean you "know her" know her?"

    "She's my creator," 19-1026-71 says softly. "I - she's my creator. I didn't know you knew her!"

    "Eun Son is practically the most amazing, smartest, most gifted and most intelligent person on any planet ever!" Tilly can barely sit still with excitement. "And she is so nice, and so kind, and she helped me so much and I feel so incredibly blessed that she took me under her wing, and - I don't know, she's just so amazing."

    "Was," 19-1026-71 corrects. "She was. She - she passed away."

Tilly gasps softly. "No!"

    "Unfortunately yes."

    "What happened? I didn't know she was sick!"

    "She was murdered." The android's tone is odd.

    "Murdered?" Michael repeats incredulously. "Why would anyone murder the greatest genius of our generation?"

19-10-26-71 shrugs. "I don't know. I just - I think she knew that she didn't have long to live anymore. She told me. I was - she built me herself. I wasn't built in one of the facilities, I was built in her workshop. I became aware very early on and we had many great talks. She was afraid of something, but she never told me what it was." He stares down into his lap. "I wish - I wish she had told me how to help her, and she kept - she kept alluding to telling me something, or letting me know something, but she never had the chance to pass it on."

    "I'm sorry," Hugh says softly. "That must've been tough."

19-1026-71 shrugs. "It changed my life. I'll never forget her."

    "And she showed you operas."

The android smiles. "Yes, she was very fond of operas."

    "My old captain met her once," Michael says with a wistful smile. "Pippa - Georgiou told me about her sometimes. Sounds like she was a great person."

    "But that's so weird. Why would anyone kill someone who's only described as a great person?"

Hugh sighs. "People are weird, Ash.  And - well, I hate to say it, but Son worked for one of the biggest companies out there, was basically the heart and soul of the entire creative process. That makes enemies."

    "It was a hitman," 19-1026-71 says. "Or - not really a hitman as in an independent hireable killer, but from another company."

    "You have got to be kidding me!" Tilly exclaims. "No way, from another company? Really? That's - that's incredibly high stakes. Why would they do that?"

    "There was an invention my creator was working on. She always said that one day I would know, but never anything concrete. And - it was late, a Sunday evening in winter, so there was nobody in the building except for my creator, I was further back in the lab where she lived and worked, and then I heard the doorbell, and - I remember wondering who would want to see her now, because not even the CEO would come at such odd hours, but I didn't busy myself with that. Except she was just as surprised, and it sounded like she didn't know whoever it was, and so I got curious and snooped a little, and I saw him. He was almost twice as tall as her, and he had her by the throat and then he threw her over to where I was hiding so he had both of his hands free and could break the window. He probably didn't think there would be anyone else in the lab. And - my creator, she was injured from the fall, she had problems getting up, and she was already getting pretty old. I had been worried about her for quite a while. So I got over to her, and tried to help her, but she ordered me not to. She - I don't know how she did it, but she must've programmed a subroutine into me that I could not disobey her if she - it was a bit like a magic word, and I couldn't resist and I went back to do what I had been doing before. And then the killer threw her out of the window. She didn't even beg him not to, she just - she just let him." The android swallows. "I couldn't help her. There was nothing I could've done, no matter how much I wanted to."

Tilly has her hand over her mouth. "Oh my god, so she really was killed. But - didn't you - you must've been able to identify the killer."

19-1026-71 shakes his head. "The police never talked to me. I assume they thought I wouldn't know anything anyways, and I was put into storage the morning after by a different company. I only got back my, well, my freedom to do as I want when I was docked at the storage."

    "But then you know who the killer is!" Tilly exclaims. A few heads turn. In a lower voice, she says: "You could tell the police who the killer is, and they could find out who killed her and why."

    "The police would never listen to an android, no matter how sophisticated," Ash throws in. "I've got - my brother works with the police, and there are so many crimes they could solve if only they'd take the androids into consideration, but with most models it's that the data they collect belongs to the companies, and they would never give up that data."

    "But 19 doesn't belong to a company," Michael says with a frown.

    "I belong to IGRG Inc. and, well, they're especially notorious to never giving up what's labelled as 'company secrets'."

    "But you know who killed Son!"

    "Michael, just because I think I know which company he was working for by doesn't mean that they were the ones who wanted her dead. He probably wore the security badge of a different company than the one he was actually employed by, and some people would do anything for money."

    "But! But wait! Wait!" Tilly is bouncing a little in her seats. "You saw his face, didn't you? Then you could identify him!"

    "He probably left the planet on the next shuttle out. Tilly, it's hopeless. Let’s say he didn’t have his face changed; he’d still never say which company employed him, even if he was directly employed by whichever rivaling company and not through some kind of obscure and untraceable network. And… I can’t even communicate with Earth now, and - like Ash said, they wouldn’t listen to me anyways. I can only hope that I'll somehow find out the secret my creator tried to tell me about."

    "She had been scared for a long time. Georgiou kept in pretty frequent contact with her, and ... Son had been scared. She thought someone was after her, and something she'd created," Michael says.

    "But did she ever tell your captain why?" 19-1026-71 looks almost pleading. Hugh's heart tightens a little. It had been obvious from the very beginning that 19-1026-71's creator must've been very special to him, because the way he mentioned her was almost reverent, and considering he had had to stand by while she was murdered, well, that must've been pretty hard on him. But to think he was maybe only created for the purpose of carrying a secret on, that's extra harsh.

    "No, not that Georgiou told me. I'm sorry."

    "No, it's okay. Thank you for telling me so much."

Tilly is staring down on her plate, pushing the last pieces of her meal around, making her thinking face.

    "I don't get it though," she finally says. "Like, Eun Son was a  _ genius _ . She thought of everything, right? And - she put a subroutine into 19 for the explicit purpose of having him stand down when she was going to be murdered. But why? Why not put in a subroutine to fight for her life? Why not tell him whatever she wanted him to carry on? Why not arrange that he was going to go somewhere where they could unlock that secret? It's so weird."

    "She was scared, Tilly. Maybe she didn't plan for that." Michael's face always turns so gentle when she looks at her girlfriend, Hugh notes. It's so incredibly heartwarming.

    "No, Mike, you don't - you didn't know Eun. When I say genius, I mean it. She wouldn't go to the bathroom without a plan B, C, D, all the way through to Z."

    "What if 19 was supposed to come exactly here?" Hugh says, adding his five cents.

    "To a random planet we were trying to colonize? There was no war here at that point."

    "No, but think about it, Tilly. You said Son was a genius. Well, it didn't take a genius to know that this war was coming for, well, for years."

    "Doctor Culber, I hardly think that my creator would've seen this war coming and would somehow have managed to make sure that one day, I'd be chosen to protect you. And besides - none of this theorizing will in any way bring her back, so I would appreciate it if we could change the topic." 19-1026-71's voice is hollow.

They're all taken aback a little. 

Tilly is the first one to find her voice again. "Of course. Sorry, that was super inconsiderate."

    "No, it's fine, just... I don't want to talk about it anymore."

    "Sure."

The atmosphere is still awkward for a few long minutes before Ash breaks it, a bit too forcefully cheerful, but with good intentions.

    "So, Tilly, tell me more about the Thomas thing. Do you think it will be able to break through the Klingons’ cloaking device eventually?"

They go back to their usual banter, but Hugh watches 19-1026-71 for a bit longer. The android looks to be somewhere deep within his own mind, no doubt reliving the events of that evening that changed his life. Hugh had seen looks like that before, especially frequently on Michael. The fallout that comes with losing someone you were so close to is always monumental. He's sorry for the android. Barely found his place in the world only to have it disrupted in the most disturbing way possible.

Hugh also wonders about the 'storage' 19-1026-71 mentioned. Images of warehouses full of wardrobes filled with androids appear before his eyes. What a scary thought, to be entombed until you're needed again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> addendum because actually quite a lot of people have asked about it: the song 19 is singing is indeed "just one guy" by anthony rapp, which is... well let's just say it's the best song ever made and it gives me every single feeling in the world  
> it's on spotify. go listen to it and cry it's so lovely


	7. VII.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello and merry christmas! here it is, the new update, at long last :P
> 
> this chapter only has warnings for "some of the things i wrote here made me laugh a lot while writing them and i hope you enjoy them too because they're horrible" so i think you'll be okay :D
> 
> also most of this is beta'd but i'm awful and uhh.... forgot to ask aaliya to beta it, so... whoops?
> 
> anyways i hope you enjoy it!

 

Hugh sees the next sunrise and quietly despairs at how long he'll still have to stay up and work if the sun is only up now. The only thing he can look forward to is the mealtimes, where he gets to get away from his medbay for a few precious moments. He's been up since... three? Four, maybe? Redressing wounds, distributing painkillers, doing as many rounds of regeneration as he can possibly force upon his patients because the more regenerated they are, the less meds they'll need and the quicker they'll be able to start working again. It hurts him somewhere close to the oath he took, but he very unfortunately doesn't stand a chance doing anything else.

  
  


Lorca marches in somewhere during... during an hour. Hugh has lost all sense of time by now.

    "How is everyone doing?" the captain asks in a rare show of niceness.

Hugh drains his fifth? mug of coffee and shrugs. "They're going to live, they're without pain at the moment, that's about all I can say."

Lorca nods. "Well, that's good. The graves are ready, by the way. We'll hold the ceremony this afternoon."

While twenty people can't attend, Hugh thinks bitterly. There's never any use in arguing with Lorca, so he stays silent.

    "Can you clear Lieutenant Tyler for flying yet?"

Hugh scoffs. "Hell no. He's still barely walking, and I don't even need to run a test to know that his hand-eye coordination is down so far below any acceptable levels that he'd do more bad than good out there."

    "Listen to me, doctor. Tyler is the best damn pilot out there. I need him to win this war. Now you better do everything you can to get him on his feet within the next couple days. I can't afford slackers while I'm down more than a fifth of my squadron, especially not if they're as good as he is."

Hugh stares back with equal anger. "Captain, all due respect, I already am doing everything I can. But he's human. He needs time to heal, and unless I'm not up to date, there's no way to restore sanity and mental health with something I can give intravenously. He will recover - in time."

    "His first flight will be on Friday, second shift, so either he's ready by then or he'll fly without being ready. Your choice."

He's gone before Hugh can punch his face in, which is probably better for everyone involved.

19-1026-71, who has surveyed the exchange, squints critically. "Is he always so... extreme?"

    "No, this is him on his good behavior," Hugh grumbles before getting back to what he'd been doing. Lorca is going to get all of them into an early grave.

  
  


The funeral ceremony is short and clinical. Hugh returns feeling slightly cold, but there's work to be done so he has no time to dwell on it. As much as 19-1026-71 has already learned, he's no replacement for Hugh's two nurses who he wishes to the heavens were still among them.

  
  


He's almost surprised when his head hits the pillow before midnight. Not that he really has the emotional capacity for surprise.

  
  


The next day is much the same. Hugh tries his hardest to just power through, knock back coffee after coffee, but he can feel his body begging him for a break. 19-1026-71 is trying his best to support Hugh - which is surprising, given how rocky their start was - but it’s quicker if Hugh wraps the bandages himself, gets the correct dosages of the meds himself, adjusts the regens himself. If he had the energy, having the android constantly hovering at his elbow would make him antsy, but as it is it’s almost more exhausting having 19-1026-71 constantly asking questions and trying to help even though he can’t.

At least Tyler is healing better and better, and maybe sending him on his first flight on Friday isn’t too soon. Hugh only wishes he had the option of helping him heal mentally as well, because it’s clear to anyone with some emotional receptors (which means anyone but Lorca) that the young man is hurting badly. But then again, maybe Lorca does realize what he’s forcing people into and just doesn’t care.

  
  


Hugh stares down at the PADD with Tyler’s stats, the lieutenant patiently awaiting his instructions. Technically he could leave medbay today already, technically there’s nothing he might need that he couldn’t come in for, but Hugh is still sceptical. 

It would probably be good for Tyler though, to reconnect with other soldiers again.

Hugh sighs. He doesn’t want to have to make this decision, not without another doctor with whom to keep counsel. 

    “Alright, I’m going to let you go, but the minute something hurts, or you don’t feel good or… anything, basically, I want to hear about it. Don’t try to tough it out, okay? We won’t win the war if you pass out in a plane and take it down with you, okay?”

Tyler grins. “Understood. Thank you.”

    “You don’t seem pleased to be letting him go,” 19-1026-71 remarks, watching Hugh curiously.

    “Yeah, I don’t think he’s fully healed yet.”

    “Then why not have him stay?”

    “I want him to have a semblance of normal life left before Lorca sends him out there again. Also, I’d prefer to have one less person in here to take care of, thank you very much,” Hugh says, already feeling the android gear himself up for another question.

    “Is it standard to only have one medical professional for a squadron of a hundred people?”

If only they were still a whole hundred, Hugh thinks bitterly. If only he had been able to save more people. They must be down to what, almost eighty now. Twenty lives that are on Hugh, that he should’ve protected.

    “I used to have two nurses as well,” he replies, hoping 19-1026-71 can read between the lines well enough.

    “What happened to them?”

Or maybe he can’t.

    “The Klingons sent a pilot of ours back, with bombs attached to her body, in the hopes the blast would decimate us further. She wasn’t able to warn us. My first nurse died in the initial blast, the other one bled out. I couldn’t do a damn thing.”

    “Oh.”

    “Yes. Any more questions?” He’s being unfair again. His mother would be angry.

    “Sorry for asking,” the android snaps, turning away a little.

Hugh wants to sigh. Sometimes they manage to have conversations like two adult men stuck in a bad situation together, willing to help each other out, but oftentimes their conversations end like this, with either of them making a snappish remark and the other being insulted. It grinds on Hugh’s nerves almost more than everything else, the stress, the lack of sleep, the immeasurable responsibility, and he wishes they could find common ground somehow. Unfortunately, that hardly seems likely.

So he turns away to get started with the next round of regeneration. Not like he ever does much else anymore. Should’ve just gotten a research degree in bio-regeneration instead of an M.D., maybe.

  
  


They don’t even see Tilly or Michael or Ash for dinner, so Hugh sits alone with 19-1026-71, who is being especially taciturn and frosty. That doesn’t do anything for Hugh’s mood either.

  
  


And then it’s back to medbay, doing this, that, and the umpteenth round of regeneration, administering meds, checking bandages and vital signs.

And then there are the write-ups. Whoever invented wartime bureaucracy must’ve been a masochist, Hugh decides, because really, a full-day report on every patient, logging almost every breath they took, a minute overview of their pain levels and emotions and whatnot, that’s a little over the top. And also barely manageable for one single person with what feels like an army of injured people, all of whom need something or other seemingly every other minute.

  
  
  


The beeping of the vita bracelet connecting unit drags him from sweet unconsciousness, sluggish, like he has to fight through mud but would rather let it consume him.

He's got a damn headache and he feels like he's a hundred and two, joints and muscles aching. 

    "Do you want me to -" 19-1026-71 begins. 

Hugh growls in his direction, though he supposes it comes out as a moan rather than a proper growl.

    "Is that a yes?"

He doesn't dignify that with an answer. Instead, he slips into his boots and grabs his jacket, not even bothering with putting his uniform up. A bit belatedly he realizes he needs to grab the connecting unit too, and then he's stumbling down the stairs, shoulder knocking into the wall a bit.

  
  


It's Rhys, laying flat on his back, breath coming in shallow gasps, eyes screwed shut in pain. Hugh feels for him, he really does - he wouldn't like to lie on an uncomfortable cot in a relatively cold medbay with plenty of other people suffering around him either, especially not with such a recent injury - but... damn he's tired, the headache behind his eyes having flared up again.

Still, he crouches down next to Rhys' cot, turning the beeper off and touching the man's shoulder gently.

    "What is it, Rhys?"

The man has to physically grit his teeth before he can respond, and yeah, Hugh already knows what it is.

    "Fuck, it - god, it hurts so much. Make it stop, doc,  _ please _ ."

    "I will," Hugh reassures him. "Just give me a second to get some meds, okay?"

  
  


Later, he doesn't remember giving Rhys the meds, or stumbling back into bed, but there's a log in Rhys' medical file that indicates Hugh gave him something, even though the actual drug's name is so riddled with spelling errors that Hugh doesn't really know what to do with it.

He does his rounds, he distributes drugs, just like yesterday and the day before and the past fifty years, and then he fills in his reports, his eyes heavy and tired, and...

  
  


    "Doctor Culber! Doctor Culber, it's an emergency!"

Hugh startles and almost falls out of his chair, momentarily hit by inertia before the dizziness kicks in and his brain sluggishly tires to orientate itself within split seconds.

    "Doctor Culber!" 

He blinks, trying to remember the ensign's name, but neither his brain nor his tongue are cooperating.

    "Yeah. 'm here."

    "It's Wells, sir. I don't know what happened, but -"

Hugh lumbers to his feet, immediately searching for - he doesn't even know what for, but he finds a stylus, so he takes that. Might be useful... right?

  
  


Wells' face is bloody all over, and Hugh mechanically begins various scans to determine whether there's any head trauma, thankful that the necessary movements are already muscle memory. He can diagnose a severe concussion pretty immediately, puts Wells on bed rest and advises 19-1026-71 to get her vital signs every hour before retreating back to his makeshift office, absent-mindedly sipping a cold coffee.

  
  


He gives in sometime around what might be four PM, just after he's through with the after-lunch rounds, pillowing his head on his arms on the table, PADDs haphazardly shoved out of the way. His back and neck are going to riot once he wakes up, but if he could maybe just get a few minutes of shut-eye, that would be fantastic.

Hey, maybe if he's nice enough to 19-1026-71 he can persuade him to give him a backrub. Oh, that sounds nice. He's got nice hands.

Hugh smiles and closes his eyes and he's gone.

  
  


He doesn't expect to actually wake up to gentle hands on his shoulders, but here he is, with those fingers - nicely warm, trimmed nails, honestly perfect in every way - slowly making their way upwards until they rub at his neck, gently loosening the muscles, and then even working their way to his temples.

    "If you lose the jacket, I'd be more than willing to do your back properly."

    "Michael," Hugh replies with a smile. It's rare that they show, but she's got soft spots. And she gives amazing massages. "Mmh, as much as I'd like that, you've got a girlfriend."

    "Yeah, about that girlfriend."

Hugh sits up and stretches a little. He doesn't know for how long he slept, but he does feel a little better.

    "What did she do now?" he asks, but then he notices Tilly sitting on the other chair in his office, looking a little sheepish and holding her hand in a way that doesn't look promising.

    "You mean, apart from being idiotic?" Michael's smile softens her words, and she crosses over to Tilly, burying her hands in her girlfriend's bushy hair. Tilly leans against her. "She probably broke every single bone in her fingers. And I need those fingers to be in working order. Especially on that hand."

Tilly giggles and Hugh can't help but grin, already reaching for the portable x-ray unit.

    "You know, Burnham, I may be your doctor, but there are some things I still don't necessarily want to know."

He fixes Tilly up quickly and sends the two of them on her way. 19-1026-71 has been quiet, but listening attentively.

    "Why is Michael so attached to especially that hand?" he asks, and Hugh groans a little internally. "It doesn't make any sense. Both hands are -"

    "Tilly is left-handed," Hugh interrupts.

    "So...?"

    "So, because she has better coordination in that hand, it feels better when she pleasures Michael with that hand."

    "Pleasure... how?" 

If Hugh wasn't so averse to explaining in great detail that his two friends are together and having sex (even though the android should know by now that they are together), then he'd find the expression on 19-1026-71's face cute.

As it is, however, he'd rather... not have to do that. 

There's probably no way around that though. Welp.

    "Pleasure her... sexually."

    "How would you do that?"

    "Well, I wouldn't, because they're my friends and we're not - our relationship isn't... like that."

    "Hypothetically."

Fuck, he needs more coffee for that, but his cup is empty and getting up and walking all the way to the nearest coffee machine is a bit too much.

    "Well, when two people like each other in that way, and, you know, consent to, um, sexual relations, they'll, if they feel like it, get a private spot and... touch each other's genitals." He's a doctor. This shouldn't feel so awkward. God. "It's something we humans do because it makes us feel good. Not everyone likes it, of course, and not everyone has a drive to do that, but a lot of people do. And, obviously, it feels better if your partner is touching you with their dominant hand."

    "I think I'm ambidextrous," 19-1026-71 says, almost conversationally.

    "Well, then you could use both hands as leading hands. I mean, usually you'd use both hands anyways, but... you know."

    "And in the unusual cases?"

God fucking damn it.

     "Well, uh, some people like to be immobilized when they receive pleasure. It's not for everyone, but it's a perfectly normal thing to want, you know. Everyone wants something different. It depends on what you like."

     "What do you like, Doctor Culber?"

Uh. Oh. Um. Fuck?!

He clears his throat. “Well. Um. Like I said, everyone prefers something different, and… not everyone prefers the same genders. Personally, I prefer men, but… you know, that’s just me. And... everyone likes being touched somewhere else, and, you know. Yeah. Um." He clears his throat.   
19-1026-71 still looks at him expectantly.   
    "But what do you like?"   
    "I - you  mean like, me personally?"   
    "Yes."   
    "That, um. I. You see, um, 19, we're not -" He gesticulates at the space between them, hoping that will convey what he's trying to say. "We're not like that."   
    "What do you mean?"   
    "We're not - the two of us aren't - that's not - we're not lovers, okay?"   
    "So you have to be a person's lover to pleasure them."   
    "Yes."   
    "I see." And with that the android moves away again, going to busy himself with something else.   
Hugh remains, sweating a little. Sometimes it feels like the android is deliberately coming onto him, and one day Hugh won't be strong enough to resist that, because... damn, you don't just ask a guy about what he likes in bed in a normal conversation. Not that any of the conversations he's had with 19-1026-71 so far have been exactly normal, but - well.   
His heart rate is a little too high to go back to napping on his desk, and his neck is feeling stiff anyways, so he takes a quick trip to the bathroom and then goes on another round.

  
  


Two days later and he’s going for his early morning run for the first time in a small eternity. Of course he’d prefer to sleep in just a little bit longer, having been woken up at least once per night so far, but he also needs to bring some normalcy back into his life.

  
  


He gets breakfast and then he goes on his second round, his patients healing mercifully quickly with the supercharged regenerators. That gives him a lot more mental calm to keep him sane in medbay and work through the backlog of paperwork there is.

  
  


Shortly after lunch and his lunch round, there’s a knock on the doorframe. For a moment, Hugh has a violet flashback to that one time he was hooking up with that really cute doctor from his station, and they were kind of interrupted by a nurse knocking on the door just as Hugh had gotten his mouth full of something nice.. Luckily there had been a door, not like here where there’s none.

But there’s also nobody to hook up with here, so it probably doesn’t matter whether there’s a door or not.

Hugh turns around and there’s Tyler leaning against the doorframe.

    “Sorry for interrupting, Doctor Culber.”

Hugh shakes his head. “Don’t worry. Come in, have a seat. What can I do for you?”

Tyler sits down on the only other chair and wrings his hands a little.

    “You said to come see you as soon as there’s something that isn’t okay.”

    “I did. What is it?”

The man throws a quick glance towards the door, and then to 19-1026-71, clearly uncomfortable.

    “19, can I ask you to wait outside? This is a, well, it’s doctor-patient-confidentiality, and you’re neither the doctor nor the patient.”

Surprisingly, the android doesn’t even make a fuss. Hugh turns back to Tyler. 

    “Tell me.”

    “I -” He bounces his leg a little, not looking at Hugh. “I sleep like shit. I can’t - anything more than a few hours is completely impossible, and everyone else in my room is getting pissed off at me constantly waking them.”

    “Nightmares?”

    “You bet. It’s - I don’t know. Uh, anyways, Michael said you’ve got some terrific sleeping aids, and, so… if you’ve got any of them over.”

    “Sure. Can I exchange them for taking your vitals for a hot second?”

    “Yeah. You want me to lie down or -”

    “No, just stay like that. No worries.”

Hugh gets his kit and does a quick check through.

    “Well, everything seems normal enough. How do you feel apart from the sleeping?”

Tyler shrugs. “Well, people are nice enough to me, um, it feels great to be getting food regularly especially now that it’s fresh, so, yeah.”

    “Okay. How about Lorca? Does he keep grilling you for information?”

    “No, it’s… okay, actually. They’re - he wants to put me on shifts again, but apparently you said not until Friday?”

Hugh nods grimly. “Look, Ash, if I were at Liberty to do my job properly at the moment, I would send you on at least a year of intense psychological rehab somewhere completely else, and then I’d schedule a full physical and maybe you’d get back in service. Maybe.”

    “I don’t think the captain -”

    “Exactly. So, yeah, you’ll be back to rounds. How do you feel about that?”

    “I… I’d like to feel useful again, so it’s… not that bad I think.”

    “You’ll be flying single in combat against the Klingons, Ash. How do you feel about that?”

    “Those are my orders, I can’t argue with that.”

    “I know. But - look. I might still be able to do something, delay that a little. Give you some more time.”

Tyler looks like he’s close to tears by now. “I - doctor, can I please just have the sleeping pills?”

    “Of course. But, I can tell Lorca to -”

    “Thank you, but I’ll be fine.”

There’s no arguing with that tone. Hugh hands over the medicine and watches him go with a heavy heart.

  
  


Tilly shows up a while later just as Hugh is considering granting his body another nap.

    “You know what? You look like you need to be in a spa right now, exfoliating in a sauna while someone is giving you a foot rub!” she exclaims, hopping up to sit on his desk.

    “Tilly, I don’t think you have much experience with spas. The whole exfoliating thing doesn’t work that well when you’re in a sauna. But I wouldn’t say no to a foot rub.”

She giggles and kicks her legs a little.

    “Well, I won’t touch your feet because I know for a fact you’re so ticklish you’ll kick me, and you’re buff enough you could probably propel me through that wall, and someone around here has to make sure a certain soldier’s tension levels don’t go through the roof, buuut I am willing to have a go at your shoulders and back.”

    “Are you serious?”

    “Oh yeah.” 

    “Then who’ll fix up all the planes?”

Tilly shrugs and brushes her hair out of the way. “I’ve got plenty of time later. Also we’ve got enough planes ready to fly right now that that won’t be a problem. However, I don’t think our doctor is in perfect working order. So! Are you going to lose that jacket and the shirt and let me work my magic?”

Hugh groans and takes one of her hands, kissing the knuckles.

    “Tilly, you’re wonderful and an absolute angel and I love you and I don’t deserve you in my life.”

He’s quick to lose his jacket and shirt and turn his back towards Tilly, and she doesn’t waste any time getting her fingers on his neck.

Hugh sighs happily into the contact and closes his eyes.

    “So, what I maybe should have told you is that this comes at a price.”

    “Anything,” he answers, a little shocked at the raw emotion in his voice, quickly blaming it on the incredibly lack of human contact he’s suffered.

Tilly’s fingers dig into his skin marvelously, magically finding every single knot and he can’t help but moan a little.

    “So, that pilot. Lieutenant Ash Tyler.”

    “Mmh.”

    “He’s kinda cute, don’t you think?”

    “You have a girlfriend, Tilly.” Hugh is already slurring a little. Tilly’s fingers are so nice, and his neck is starting to feel really happy again.

    “Oh, I know. And I’m not making the moves on him unless Michael wants a piece too.”

    “I also thought you were into women only.”

    “Mhm, yeah, but like… I’d make an exception for him. He’s cute. But anyways, it’s not about whether I want or don’t want to bone him, but whether you do.”

    “Hmm?”

    “Okay, let’s face it. Most people who have a sex drive, which is a lot of people, need to get laid on occasion. For example our hardworking doctor. So the question is: do you want a piece of him in the foreseeable future?”

Her fingers move on to a nasty knot in his back and Hugh can’t talk for a moment, experiencing just about every feeling at the same time. He knows better than to tense up, so he tries his best to lean into the touch while she works the knot out.

He moans again, the pleasure-pain-oh my god human touch mix messing with him and his poor confused body unsure how to react exactly. It eventually settles on mild arousal and he presses back into Tilly’s touch a little bit, drowning in the sensation.

    “Hugh?”

    “Huh?”

    “Do you want a piece of the cute lieutenant or not?”

    “Is that why you came here?”

    “I also came to give you the backrub Michael promised but didn’t deliver on a while ago, but I thought hey, why not kill two flies with one strike.”

    “I… ahhh… I don’t think Tyler is up for, well, anything yet. Listen, Tilly…” Hugh trails off again, approaching too blissed out to talk. Fucking pathetic.

    “I’m listening?”

Hugh wrestles with his controls. “He’s heavily traumatized. Be careful with him.”

    “So you’re not interested? But he’s a guy, Hugh, you like those!”

    “I have a type.”

    “And he’s not it?”

    “N-not exactly. Oh, fuck, Tilly, right there, that’s amazing.”

She digs in a little harder and Hugh moans with the shower of endorphins that’s sending through him.

    “You’re a tough guy to find a lay for, Hugh Culber.”

    “You know that - mnh! - that not every guy who - that I maybe don’t, like,  _ need _ need sex.”

    “Hugh, you practically smell of sexual frustration. What happened to, oh, I don’t know, the whole thing of people dying without human touch?”

    “Is that what this is?”

    “Well, I prefer for you to be alive and able to heal all of us. Also, I’m your friend.”

That’s just classic Tilly.

    “I don’t need sex right now.”

    “Well, I wasn’t offering. But you did say humans die without contact, so!”

    “ _ Babies _ can die without physical contact, yes. I’m not a baby.”

    “Okay, fine, I’ll give it to you.”

Hugh grins and closes his eyes again.

    “But!”

    “Oh, god, Tilly.”

    “I need to know your type so I can finally find you someone to keep your bed warm at night.”

    “I’m pretty sure that’s sexist.”

    “What’s your type, Hugh? Tell me or I’ll tickle you.”

He chuckles. “Alright. Um. Blonds, usually.”

    “Mmkay. So Michael is safe. Oh, wait, she’s also the wrong gender. Okay, what else?”

Witty, Hugh wants to say. Someone who’ll give him attitude, but who’s actually sweet. Light skin that’ll contrast with his, not too fit because Hugh would give everything for some chub pressed against him. Someone who’ll kiss with a lot of tongue, and who Hugh can lift up, and who’s maybe just a hint taller than Hugh, with broad fingers and who’s warm and cuddly and who’ll be the big spoon, light eyes and pink lips, someone who’s - fuck. Not an android.  _ Fuck _ .

    “Hugh?”

    “I don’t know. Someone nice.”

    “You thought of someone.”

    “Did not.”

    “Did  _ so _ .”

    “Tilly, drop it.”

    “Okay, fine. So. Anyone in camp you might be interested in?”

The thing is - by now, Hugh would even be fine with sleeping with a woman, which he usually wouldn’t be particularly interested in. Tilly is right. He needs to get laid.

    “Or, if your bed is big enough, I’ll come cuddle with you once Michael is on that excursion or whatever.”

    “Wait, an excursion?” Hugh twists away from her fingers to look at her.

    “They didn’t tell you?”

    “Tilly, nobody ever tells me anything here, I’m just supposed to fix people up and not ask questions!”

    “And you’re doing a wonderful job. Yes, an excursion. Captain Lorca wants - well, I suppose he wants Ash to fly a couple patrols, get back into things, and then he and Michael are supposed to work a two-man-mountain exploration.”

    “Our side or the Klingon side?”

Tilly grimaces. “Which do you think?”

    “Oh, god.”

    “Yeah.”

    “Do we know how close the Klingon bases even are? Or are we just hoping they’re far enough on the other side of the mountain range?”

    “I - I don’t know, Michael did say something to the effect of that we apparently have them more or less charted, thanks to the intel Ash brought back, but… to be honest, I think we’re just hoping for the best.”

Hugh shakes his head in exasperation. “Fucking Lorca.”

    “Saru, actually.”

    “Oh, well, I suppose Saru is fine with danger if he’s not in any himself.”

    “Aw, Hugh, come on. You sound worse than him.”

    “Well, am I the only one who thinks that sending our people out  _ towards  _ the Klingons with only a general idea of where their bases are might be a bad idea? Worst case scenario -“

    “I know! Hugh, I know, I hate it just as much, probably more, but what am I supposed to do? I’m - I’ll be giving them my prototype of the camo sphere, but that’s about everything I can do for them. They’ll have heat sensors, they’ll have weapons, some other gadgets and… there’s nothing else I can give them.”

    “Hey, I’m sorry. I know that this is difficult for you.”

    “I just - I wish we knew how the cloaking spheres worked. But… well, what can you do, right?”

    “You haven’t…?”

    “The captain wants all the planes repaired first. Or, hah, well, I’m actually supposed to do both at the same time. But in the event of another battle he wants all the planes in working order first.”

    “Cannonfodder,” Hugh mutters under his breath.

Tilly heaves a heavy breath. “I suppose.”

She looks like she’s a lot closer to tears than Hugh has ever seen her. He gets up and hugs her close.

    “Hey, it’s going to be fine,” he says into the flaming orange hair tickling his nose. “Tyler and Michael are amazing soldiers, and they’ll be super careful, and they’ll come back alright. Don’t worry too much.”

She nods into his shoulder and clings on for a while longer, her body heat slowly sinking through the fabric of their uniforms.

    “Thank you,” she whispers eventually and pulls back, covertly wiping away a stray tear. “I should probably…” She motions towards the door. “Find the cloaking sphere and all that. Thank you, Hugh.”

    “Thank you for the backrub.”

    “Oh, anytime.” There’s a small smile back on Tilly’s face.

    “Don’t say that, or I’ll hold you to it.”

She skips off with a small giggle, taking some weight off Hugh’s heart.

    “What are they hoping to find in the mountains?”, 19-1026-71, who’s been so quiet Hugh could’ve forgotten he was there (except he didn’t, because Tilly had to go and ask him about his type), asks.

Hugh shrugs. “No idea, honestly. Some people say Lorca believes there’s a research facility of some kind, or that he’s after some of the wrecks in the mountains, but honestly, I have no idea. I’m not exactly a strategist.”

    “What would be in the research facility?”

    “I have absolutely no clue. Should be from the Sunbeam Corporation, but they’re a whole ‘nother can of worms.”

    “And the wrecks?”

    “Again, could be any company. Back when - uh - well, we call those years “the cradle of robotics”, that’s around when Alterra was discovered, and, well, there were a ton of small corporations and companies and all such around that were in the whole technologies business, and every company that could just about afford it sent some people here. There were a lot that didn’t make it back.”

19-1026-71 shakes his head. “Why do you people have so little regard for your own life? You’re born and you grow and evolve and change and learn, and then you’re so ready to lay down your life again, and for what? What was proved or gained or saved by all these people dying?”

    “Nothing.”

    “And yet you continue on that path.”

    “I know.”

    “Why?”

Hugh can’t help but chuckle. “You know, that’s the killer question in everything. Kids will drive you mad by always asking why, and the easiest way to shut someone up is by asking why over and over, and it’s… well, it’s the final question, isn’t it? Why are we here? Why is everything the way it is?”

    “Well, what’s the answer? You have to know the answer!” 19-1026-71 exclaims. And then, more quietly: “My creator always knew the answers.”

Hugh has no idea what to say to that. But 19-1026-71 looks… so sad and lost that he wants to comfort him, somehow.

    “You know, sometimes it’s better not to question everything and instead, um, find… find solace in what’s out there. In life. And… I suppose… to some questions you have to find the answer yourself.”

    “Hm.” The android doesn’t look pleased with that answer.

    “I mean… you can’t live if you don’t chose your own path, and your own way of, you know, of seeing things.”

    “How do you know how to do that?”

Hugh shrugs. “We learn how to. I mean - it’s just… you know, you live, you go out in the world every day, you have experiences, and you learn from that and then… well, then you kind of build your world view. But - look, 19, it’s perfectly logical that you don’t have that yet, because you, well, you haven’t lived that long yet.”

The android’s face twitches with an emotion for a second, and the he turns away, stacking some meds. Hugh lets the conversation die out like that. Sometimes it’s best not to push.


	8. VIII.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :^) secret extra chapter for christmas :D  
> not beta'd because i literally just finished it, and unfortunately only some 3k long, but with some TwistsTM
> 
> no warnings except for cuddles!

The next day, Lorca marches up to Hugh just as he’s trying to drink his morning coffee in some relative peace over the last set of stats from his remaining patients, because the captain probably has a sensor for when people want some quiet and peace, and decides when to talk to them based on that.

    “I want a full physical for Burnham and Tyler.”

A least he’s straightforward and doesn’t lose any time with niceties.

Hugh sets his coffee down with a sigh. 

    “As soon as possible, as allround as possible - they need to be cleared for a special expedition by tonight.”

    “Anything I need to know?”

    “I want them in peak physical condition and equipped with first aid kits.”

    “And what if they’re not in peak physical condition?”

    “Then you’ll get them into that condition. Culber, you may not have realized, but I am fighting a war here. I need people to do the tasks I tell them to do, and for you that means keeping my soldiers healthy.”

    “I understand, sir, but -”

    “Good.” And Lorca is gone again.

Hugh purses his lips and tries not to glare.

    “Someone give that man a coat and a wand, he’d make a fantastic evil wizard. Maybe a long haired wig, too.” He downs the last of his coffee and gets up, stretching a little. “Let’s go get them, 19, shall we?”

 

They find Tyler first, around what’s quickly been dubbed ‘the graveyard’ - the second exercising square, parking space for all the planes that need fixing, as well as their captured Klingon plane.

He’s leaning against the mostly undamaged wing of it, fiddling with something small in his hand, just about the size of a comm. He hides it as soon as Hugh and 19-1026-71 approach, startling a little.

Hugh lets it slide. The poor man has been through enough, and if he managed to salvage something to hang his heart onto, then he should be allowed to keep it for himself.

    “I hear you’re heading out on an expedition with Burnham,” Hugh says as way of greeting.

    “Ah, yeah, Captain Lorca wants us to go into the mountains. For… for wrecks, I think. Um, to see whether there’s any technologies we can salvage, maybe spy on the Klingon bases a bit. Yeah, something like that. We’ll see. I’m mostly there to protect Burnham, she’s the genius.”

Hugh nods. “So it’s really starting again for you, then, is it?”

Tyler laughs and kicks a lump of dirt in front of him. “Yes it is. Quite soon, really.”

    “Too soon?”

He laughs again, but it doesn’t seem exactly genuine. “You need to get off my back about that. I’ll be fine, I just… it’s just going to need some time, but I’ll be fine.”

    “Right.” Hugh’s gut is not happy with that answer. Not at all. “Well, anyways, let’s get this started, alright? Let’s head over to my ‘bay.”

Tyler falls in step with Hugh, pocketing whatever he was playing with.

    “So what’s the difference between a full physical and the examinations you already did on me?”

Hugh grins and slaps his shoulder. “You’re going to get vaccinations. I’ll also do bone density checks, check your heart, lungs, eyes, ears… your reflexes, hand-eye coordination, all the fun things.”

    “My hand-eye is great.”

    “I’ll see about that,” Hugh quips, but without any real heat.

  
  


Tyler is a pleasant patient, even though his height makes auscultating him a little awkward.

He sits him down with the hand-eye test and goes to get Michael.

  
  


Tilly comes along with her girlfriend, cheerily winking at 19-1026-71, but overall a little subdued.

She approaches Hugh as he’s sorting the blood tests. He only gets to use the lab tech once per day, something about conserving power.

    “They’ll be fine, right?” she asks softly, throwing a glance to where Michael is waiting on her electrocardiogram to finish. “It’s just a mission, right? They won’t walk into the Klingons, right?”

    “Of course not. They’ll be right as rain.” It’s a war, he wants to say. Of course they won’t be fine. They might not even come back. Tyler might flip, there might be bears in the mountains.

    “Are there bears in the mountains?”

    “Uh.” Hugh loads the centrifuge carefully. “I don’t think Alterra has too many land-dwelling predators.” It sounds more questioning than he’d like. There’s a bad feeling in his stomach, a bit like anxiety but it tastes more like bile than stomach pains. Something about that mission sits very badly with him.

  
  


He goes over the blood values and the ECG and the other collected stats several times, but there’s nothing he can make up to keep them here. They’re perfectly healthy, which is of course good for them and a nice pat on the back for Hugh for being responsible for that health, but it also means that they will definitely be going on that mission.

  
  


Lorca shows up just as Hugh has officially logged green lights for both of them, and now Hugh can’t take it back anymore.

Lorca stands, appraising both Michael and Tyler, who are both standing straight. He flicks over their stats on the PADD Hugh gave him, pretending to assess them even though Hugh knows from experience that the captain has little to no idea about medicine, but hey, as long as it makes him feel important… 

  
  


He more or less snaps his fingers at them and then they’re gone, going to the last debrief. Hugh takes Tilly into a sideways hug.

    “They’ll be alright,” he promises.

  
  


He tells her the same thing after they’ve officially said goodbye and are watching them drive off, and he tells it to her again over dinner, where she gives him a slightly teary smile, and Hugh’s heart breaks a little.

    “I get separation anxiety,” she explains to 19-1026-71, who’d been watching her oddly. “My parents weren’t around a lot, and I was pretty lonely as a kid, and now I don’t like being lonely anymore. But that also means -” She sits up a bit more straight. “I get to sleep in your bed, right, Hugh?”

  
  


She does, and even though the bed is far too small for two grown adults, Hugh sleeps far better than he has in weeks. Also, for once he isn’t woken up by an emergency but rather by his alarm clock.

And for once his day is slow, he gets to discharge patients, slowly tidy up again, take stock, throw away used materials and just generally try to calm down again.

19-1026-71 still follows him around like a grumpy puppy, but he’s either grown completely disinterested in fighting with Hugh, or maybe they’re getting somewhere, which would really be nice, because Hugh doesn’t want to spend the rest of his life fighting with a synthetic. Nevermind that Hugh is probably the one who starts half of their fights.

  
  


Unfortunately, the increase in off time also allows the more creative part of his brain to come back online, specifically the part that sees the devil in every shadow. 

He isn’t the only one though - Michael and Tilly are only gone for a day and a half when Tilly starts to lessen in intensity, becoming more and more pensive and a lot less joyous.

  
  


Hugh confronts her during lunch.

    “Michael is one of the best soldiers I’ve ever even heard of,” he says quietly, watching Tilly pick at her food. 19 seems to be in some kind of introspective loading state, so Hugh is confident his heart-to-heart with Tilly won’t be interrupted.

    “I know.” Her voice is small and timid.

    “But?”

    “But I - I don’t know.”

    “You don’t trust Tyler?”

She gasps audibly. “No! No, that’s not it, I do, I really do, or, well, you know…” She trails off again. “Hugh, what if something happens to them?”

     “The mountains are pretty safe. I don’t really think they’ll run into any Klingons there,” Hugh tries to alleviate her worries. “I mean, I know that depending on where they’ll go, they’ll come pretty close to where we think the Klingons were six months ago.”

She groans and buries her head in her hands. “Hugh, what are they doing there? Why did Lorca send them there? What are they supposed to find?”

    “I don’t know. I wish I did, so I could at least be prepared for that - and for whatever they might bring back.”

    “What’s that supposed to mean?!”

    “Uh.” Hugh pushes his plate aside and leans towards her, throwing a cautious look sideways. Captain Lorca isn’t around. “So… this is mostly just, you know, campfire stories and general little tidbits you hear, but… I think that this place, right here, is where his last squadron was stationed, until they moved into the mountains.”

    “But they died in the mountains!”

    “Shh, keep you voice down!” Hugh hisses. “Yeah, they did die in the mountains. As far as we know, at least. But… word is that it wasn’t the Klingons who killed them.”

    “You mean there’s something in the mountains? Something… else? An indigenous species, or -?”

    “No. I think it’s whatever’s left over from the Sunbeam missions.”

    “The Sunbeam missions were a corporate joke! They didn’t bring back anything of value!”

    “From what I’ve heard, they’ve had to abort their mission for some reason. And I think - I know it sounds crazy, but I only thought about that a couple nights ago - nobody knows what they were looking for. Just - think of the numbers, Tilly. Did you ever hear how much money was invested, from undisclosed sources? Billions. Several hundred billions. And then the missions were abandoned, and all the data was allegedly lost. And - come on, you know yourself how easy it is to erase data permanently. And remember how Sunbeam Inc. showed up right after the year of the natural disasters?”

Realization is dawning on Tilly’s face. “And nobody knew them at first, and nobody paid any attention, but now - they’ve been everywhere. In every industry.”

    “Exactly.”

    “And - wait!” Tilly’s brain is kicking in all of a sudden, making connections and cross connections that nobody would ever think of, except her. “The crimes. There were suddenly crimes everywhere. The natural disasters first, then the sudden - well. Everything got worse suddenly. People were horrible. The environment was destroyed. The air was a hundred times worse. But - and - you think that was Sunbeam?”

    “Shut up,” 19-1026-71 snaps so suddenly that both of them flinch, his hands slamming on the table and upsetting the plates and cutlery. “Don’t talk about that, or I’ll make you stop talking.” His eyes are burning cold and his teeth are bared slightly.

Hugh’s heart is somewhere in his throat. From the corners of his eyes he can see Tilly’s hands shaking violently.

    “Okay,” he breathes out, voice obviously wavering. “Okay, we won’t talk about that anymore.”

The android sits back down slowly.

    “I - I gotta go,” Tilly whispers, gets up hastily and threads into the crowds.

Hugh can feel 19’s animosity like a physical wall pressing into his shoulder and arm. It’s a violent reminder that for all of the android’s apparent humanity, he’s more than enough of a superhuman that he could easily overpower Hugh.

    “What’s your problem?” he asks, because if there’s one thing he isn’t, it’s a smart man.

    “None of your business,” the android snaps back, but with far less of the previous fury.

Hugh raises his hands and sighs in defeat. 

He finishes his meal in silence, pointedly ignoring the android. Not that 19 would probably realize that much.

  
  


Despite how much 19 must’ve scared her, raising his voice like that, Tilly does show up around bedtime, changes into her pajamas and crawls back into Hugh’s bed. Except that she chooses the side closer to the wall this time, further away from the android.

Hugh wraps himself around her, tucking them in. It’s a lot like being eleven and sleeping in a puppy pile with his sisters again.

     “Good night, Tilly,” he says into her hair.

She pets his hands. “Good night to you too.”

  
  


The next morning, Tilly is out and about far quicker than Hugh had ever thought she was able to be in the morning. 19 must’ve really scared her.

    “You know, it’s not particularly polite to yell at a person so much that they’re then scared of you for days,” he quips in 19’s general direction.

    “I know,” the android replies. “My social program is running correctly. I checked it for mistakes just tonight.”

    “Yeah, well, maybe you need an external check-up, because yesterday you had a pretty obvious bug.”

    “You were talking about Sunbeam Inc.,” 19 points out, facial expression already shutting off again. “You can’t talk about them.”

    “Says you?” Hugh calls from the bathroom. He’s left the door a few centimeters ajar, just for the sake of continuing their argument.

    “You can’t talk about them,” 19 repeats.

    “Why not? What if they actually had something to do with -”

The door hits the wall with a bang, and suddenly there’s a set of warm fingers at Hugh’s throat, the sink digging into the small of his back. 19-1026-71 is incredibly close, towering over Hugh, fingers tightening on Hugh’s soft skin, already cutting the air supply off.

    “ _ You can’t talk about Sunbeam _ .”

    “Okay,” Hugh gasps out. “Okay, I promise I won’t do it again.”

The android moves away immediately.

    “Good.”

Again the fury is gone as quickly as it appeared. 

Hugh’s heart rate doesn’t go down that easily though.

  
  


He goes for his run, he works out, he has breakfast and then goes back to work, always with the very present awareness of 19’s presence somewhere close to him. He hadn’t even thought about the android being a proper threat, since he seemed far too dorky and innocent for that, but apparently Hugh had been wrong.

Maybe 19 suddenly having these weird lapses did prove Lorca’s involvement with Sunbeam Inc. though, Hugh ponders as he’s filing away blood pictures. It doesn’t exactly make sense that Lorca would consider Hugh to be such a huge threat to whatever he’s planning though, because Hugh has next to no prior knowledge about Sunbeam Inc., and to assign him an android just for the off chance of him actually knowing something doesn’t add up. Lorca is smarter than that, and if there’s one thing he hates, it’s wasting resources.

  
  


Tilly didn’t join them for breakfast, and she’s absent at lunch, too.

    “I suppose you won’t let me talk to Tilly alone?” Hugh asks the android, who’s sitting ever stoically.

He barely gets a glare in return.

    “Alright, then you’re coming with me. I want her to check you for bugs.”

    “Hardly necessary.”

    “You yelled at us yesterday and today you choked me, all because we’re not supposed to talk about something. Doesn’t sound like something a normally functioning android would do.”

    “What do  _ you  _ know of androids?”

    “Enough to know you’re acting weirdly, and I want that checked out.”

19-1026-71 rolls his eyes heavenwards. “Remember how much good it did the last time you had me checked out? All we know is that there are half a million secret protocols inside my brain, and looking at them again won’t help you at all.”

Hugh eyes him for a few moments.

    “We?” He asks.

    “Yes. I don’t understand those protocols any more than you do.”

    “That almost sounds like you’re being cooperative all of a sudden.”

    “Why shouldn’t I be?”

    “If you killed me, you could run. You could be free.”

19 stares at him. “Perhaps this is difficult for you to understand, Dr Culber, but I have no interest in murder.” He gets up. “If you will excuse me, I will be with Tilly and we will be expecting you shortly.”

  
  


Tilly is already expecting Hugh; 19 is hooked up to a machine, wires running to and fro, and the screens are blinking with the jumbled mess of letters and signs and numbers of code.

    “What can you tell me?” he asks, sparing 19 a cursory glance. The android doesn’t seem to be having any emotions, but he isn’t in shutdown mode, either.

    “Well, I refined the search parameters and translated some code to see what language it is and how it relates to, well, to what we use, and what the probability of denial and all is, and I think I found the lines that come into effect whenever Sunbeam is mentioned. The thing is - you see this line here? Well, I think it’s written for a negative run in setting, and it’s linked to the major processing drive unit, which is again linked to the core, but the next line is a positive, which I think runs to a secondary processing unit which  _ isn’t  _ linked to what I think the core is. Which does explain the bifurcation in commands here, here and here -” She points at various clusters of code that look nothing alike in Hugh’s opinion. “- but it doesn’t explain where the secondary unit is, or why there should even be one. Well, no, that’s not true, but usually the secondary processor is the uh, well, the server that the android is linked to.”

    “But you said he doesn’t have an uplink.”

    “Eactly. So there’s two options here. Either the uplink is so hidden that I missed it, or 19 is his own server.”

    “Which means what exactly?”

    “Well, um, the - basically the server is the, like the mothership? Or… you know, like the super ego in the Freudian personality scheme thing?”

    “Freud is super obsolete,” Hugh throws in.

    “Well, yeah, but kinda not for bots - sorry, autonomous synthetic life forms as you’re supposed to say - because they basically have the three instances of being and all that. The servers run basically the same as the Id, because of course the programming goes that way, but they’re there to keep re-checking the android over and over and nobody can alter them except for the company that owns them.”

    “Right. So what does that mean for 19?”

    “Um, well.” Tilly fiddles with a stylus. “I have no idea. It’s not - it’s just not something you would do, right, because it’s illegal. You have to - basically the law says that every android has to constantly be able to be stopped. Which you could do with access to the servers, right, you could just shut down a malfunctioning android, no matter what the problem is, or make any android do anything, no matter what their initial programming is. But usually you have to go through both the government and the company who owns that android as well as an external supervising company to even get to the servers. But if 19 really carries his own server with him, he could potentially reprogram himself.”

    “And… that’s bad?”

    “Well, the laws don’t apply to him then. Or at least he could make it so.”

    “The laws?” Hugh is incredibly out of his depth.

    “The eight laws of robotics?”

    “Uhh… I think I heard of them, yeah.”

    “To make it short: the eight laws of robotics prevent androids from harming humans, from becoming completely autonomous and self-aware and from basically doing whatever they want. And, well, 19 is already self aware.”

Hugh draws in a heavy breath and leans back against a table, crossing his eyes.

    “Well that’s reassuring.”

    “Would you like for me to get started on the murdering then? So you don’t have to live with the horror of knowing a self aware android,” 19 snaps.

    “Can you turn off the protocol that’s for being an asshole?” Hugh retorts.

    “Oh my god,” Tilly mutters to herself and turns away again. 

Hugh spends some more time glaring at the android, who flutters his eyelashes shut and adopts an expression of bone-deep suffering.

Tilly is running all sorts of calculations and codes and whatever else along the room’s wallscreens, colors and symbols twisting and changing with every touch of her fingers. It reminds Hugh oddly of the first time he had to read a blood picture, except he knows he’ll never be able to master computer sciences.

    “I’m just going to see whether I can isolate and find the protocols pertaining to the Sunbeam missions,” Tilly adds into the uncomfortable silence.

    “So I don’t accidentally murder any people with an MD?”

Asshole, Hugh thinks. He doesn’t say it because hey, if 19 is already in such an amazing mood and also obviously malfunctioning, it might not be the smartest idea to pick a fight with him.

    “Could you disable them though?”

She laughs, a high and harsh sound. “God, Hugh, I don’t know. This is like - way beyond what I usually deal with, and it… it’s kind of like brain surgery. Which is, you know, a little bit not the easiest thing in the world, so…”

    “It isn’t?”

Tilly kicks at him, boot scuffing his calf. “Shut up. Don’t be mean. Also you’re a paediatrician, Hugh, you’ve got no idea of brain surgery anyways!”

    “Ooh… right, I forgot, children only grow a brain well into their teens.” He pokes her side. She squeals.

19 lets out a put-upon sigh.

    “No wonder humans are inferior,” he mutters.

    “I’m sorry, did you say something? Oh, maybe my inferior hearing didn’t pick up on that, I’m so sorry.”

    “Guys!”

    “Sorry, Tilly,” Hugh says sweetly. “Are you making any progress though?”

    “Not with you breathing down my - oh, nevermind, here we go.” She projects something onto the biggest viewscreen.

    “Ah. Numbers and symbols in long, tiny lines. Marvelous.”

Tilly kicks Hugh again, this time hitting his tibia right on.

    “Shut up. So, this is basically the protocols that come into effect when Sunbeam is mentioned. It’s - there’s a number of, well, they’re kind of - they’re like… god, how do I explain that? It’s an automatic response, basically. Like… like a reflex. 19 can’t control it.”

    “And here I thought he was choking me for funsies.”

The android steps forward as well and runs a finger over the screen, obviously able to read the code. “What can you do about it? I’d prefer to not have any involuntary protocols running.”

    “Like I said, it’s like performing brain surgery, except you don’t really know what the individual parts do, and also you have a hammer and a planting pot and also you had three bottles of wine for breakfast.”

19 squints at her, obviously trying to figure out whether she’s serious.

    “I can - look, okay, I think I can try a few things, just a test, write some code myself and… something like that. Give me… I don’t know, give me an hour? Two? You guys could check in with the captain in the meantime, see whether there are any news from… well, whether Michael and - whether they’re fine and don’t… you know, that they called in. If they did. If they’re still - fine, and stuff. And when you come back, we’ll - I might be able to tell you something.”

  
  


Tilly’s tests take the better part of the afternoon and evening, and when she crawls into Hugh’s bed around midnight, her eyes are already falling shut with the exertion of having squinted at screens for so long.

    “Anything?” Hugh whispers.

    “Mmmmhh… t’m’rrow, yeah?”

    “Okay.”

    “Michael?”

    “Nothing, but I’m sure they’re fine.”

Tilly sighs and wiggles closer, and then she’s fast asleep.


	9. IX.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoop, welcome back to sunrises! it's been a while, hasn't it? :D  
> a quick thing about organization: i hope i'll be able to keep the chapters coming (one ~5k chapter per week, every sunday ~~except for this one, which i should've uploaded yesterday lksjdfljs~~ ) until the second weekend in april included (ie last scheduled upload would be the 8th). if sunrises isn't finished after that, i'll make a separate announcement for how it'll go on; i might need another break during that semester. if sunrises is finished by then, well, there's part two (v short) and a potential part three (longer) happening, so... yeah, it's not over yet.
> 
> about this chapter: no triggers. it is a little mean, but i promise next week's will fix things :)
> 
> also huge thanks to [AlyssiaInWonderland](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/AlyssiaInWonderland) / [@logicallythyla](http://www.logicallythyla.tumblr.com) for helping me with all my questions about coding (and yelling about how stupid computer languages are :D). check out her fics, they're great!
> 
> ANYWAYS HERE WE GOES

    “- and… I don’t know, Hugh, it scares me. A lot. What if he isn’t stable at all? What if he -”

    “- isn’t human?” Hugh finishes her sentence. “Yeah. I know, I’ve thought about it before. I mean - I don’t know what a Klingon blood picture would look like. Maybe it’s the same as a human one. But… I don’t know. I hear you, Michael, I really do, but… I want to give him the benefit of the doubt.”

    “I know. Me too, I wouldn’t be here anymore if - if Captain Lorca hadn’t given me that. I’m just… well.. Let’s hope it’s just nightmares.”

    “You get them too. Maybe he’s just as wary of you as you are of him,” Hugh tries for a lighter note. “How are you, Michael? Did you make Lorca make me take the call just to tell me about Tyler’s nightmares?”

    “Maybe I wanted to talk to someone who’d tell me how my girlfriend is doing.” There’s a ghost of a smirk on Michael’s lips.

    “Your girlfriend has the hots for Lieutenant Tyler.”

    “My girlfriend is a huge lesbian.”

    “We all have people we’d cross the line for.”

    “Ah, yes, the gender binary attraction line?”

Hugh laughs. “That exact same line. Makes me wish I could go see your dad and hit him over the head with my MD.”

    “It’s fine. It was a long time ago. But - were you serious about Tilly liking Tyler?”

    “She says he’s cute, she tried to make me see it, and when I didn’t she said - and I quote - “Well, more for me then!”. So if that doesn’t speak for itself…”

    “You don’t think he’s cute?” Michael looks over her shoulder for a moment, like she’s scared of being caught. “Come on, Hugh, he’s very cute.”

    “Not my type.”

    “What  _ is  _ your type then? Oh - don’t tell me. Blond, not human, a hundred percent asshole?”

Hugh groans and buries his head in his hands. “Don’t. Don’t start with that. Not you too.”

Michael laughs a rare laugh. “Alright, I’ll leave you to your delusions. Let’s hope 19 will flirt with you as badly as Tilly did with me so you get your head out of your ass.”

    “Michael…”

    “Alright. Um… I should probably cut this short anyways.”

    “So there’s nothing else to report?”

    “Surprisingly not, no. Not that there’s much out here to report on. I saw trees. Hugh… how’s Tilly doing?”

    “Considering the circumstances… not too bad. She misses you a ton, but that makes her cuddle me instead of you, and since you kick in your sleep, she’s definitely wasted on you.”

    “Hands off my girlfriend, Culber. Next time I call I don’t want to have to worry about you stealing the love of my life.”

    “Alright, fine,” Hugh concedes. “Go keep her all for yourself, if you must. I’ll just be here… lonely… uncuddled…”

    “Damn right. Away team out.”

  
  


    “Well, obviously my girlfriend has great taste,” Tilly proclaims loftily over lunch. “And if you don’t want him, then Michael and I are officially calling dibs.”

19 squints in that way he has when he’s partly annoyed and partly not understanding but doesn’t comment.

    “You can have him,” Hugh allows graciously. “Like I said, not my type.”

Tilly licks her spoon off with a blissed-out expression. “Mmh, he’s cute.”

    “Can’t wait to kiss him?”

    “And hold hands with him and Michael  _ at the same time _ , Hugh, come on, that’d be awesome. I’ve got two hands after all!”

    “Dios bueno,” Hugh sighs, making Tilly giggle.

    “Okay, I’ll stop. How’s Michael doing?”

    “She’s fine.” The response is automatic. And it’s true, Michael is fine, and her worries about Tyler are strictly confidential doctor-patient material. Or doctor-patient-patient. Same principle though. “She says she misses you, though. I wish I could’ve let you be there, but the only way I could even make Lorca let me talk to her was -”

    “Because you’re a doctor, yeah.  _ The  _ doctor.”

    “And she asked to.”

    “Maybe next time she’ll need some mechanical help.”

    “Or I can get an MD until tomorrow.”

    “Personal bias.”

Tilly pouts into her drink. “That’s rude.”

    “That’s  _ life _ , Tilly.”

She pouts some more and Hugh watches her. In a way, Tilly is his favorite little sister. Not that he could tell his four sisters (both older and younger) that, because he’d surely get banned from the family.

    “By the way! I had a peek at the code -” 19 perks up. “- and I’m pretty sure that if I scramble it, it’s going to break. But I also have a way that I think, well, I’m pretty sure that if I do that, I’ll be able to .”

    “How sure?” the android asks.

    “Well, um, 50% at least.”

Hugh shakes his head. “Too risky. We’re not doing that.”

    “You do know that it would prevent me from killing you, most likely?”

    “But if we don’t know what else it might do to you - I - we can’t take that risk! Do we even know if your code can be changed just like that? Not that I know what scrambling code means, but…”

    “Well, it’s not really changing, it’s more like - look, saying you’ll scramble code sounds awesome. But… no, what I  _ am  _ going to do is - well, okay, see… I… to do anything, I need to understand the language 19 runs on first. The coding language. And then I’ll have to see which other routines are attached to the you-know-which routines, and then I’ll have to see how to, like, de-attach them so that 19 still functions, and… yeah, that might take a while. See, the problem is - so far, the code isn’t making sense. Like, uh, how do I explain this? It’s like when you know a language, and you talk to a person in that language, but then they sometimes just change languages. It’s a bit like that.”

    “Well, aren’t there different computer languages?”

    “Of course they are.” How the android manages to sound so bored despite the topic being quite literally his brain is beyond Hugh. “And it’s unlikely that my creator would only have used one for my code. The best way to ensure nobody can crack me open and get at all the secrets would be by giving me two or more languages to run on.”

Hugh tries to suppress his shudder at the idea of ‘cracking someone open’.

    “What I’m going to do is I’m going to, uh, to monitor 19’s… basically his brain functions, and then I’ll try to find a common denominator for the code based on the actions 19 does and the correlating routines running.”

    “A Rosetta stone.”

Tilly nods. “Yeah, basically. Except this one might, you know, save our lives.”

    “But the problem is the code, right?” Hugh asks again.

    “The problem is the part where I go around choking people whenever they mention those missions. Choking people kills them, doctor.”

    “The problem is that I don’t speak the code yet, so while I have an idea of which lines it are that affect 19’s behavior like that, I neither have absolute certainty, nor do I know what to do once I do have the lines. Like… I don’t know how to disable them. Yet.”

    “Tilly, I don’t know the first thing about coding. So… how do you usually disable them?”

She chuckles. “Aww, Hugh. It’s pretty simple - I’d just add a single quotation mark in front of the to be disabled line. You know, not two little lines, but only one? What do you call them?”

    “I - no idea.”

    “An apostrophe,” 19 says. 

    “Yeah, those things! So, you’d put one on the beginning or a slash in the beginning of the line, and boom, disabled.”

Hugh feels like his brain is swelling a little. “So and then everything should be fine though!”

19 fixes him with those baby blues of his, expression unreadable, and something is happening in Hugh’s gut. Ugh. “Most androids aren’t programmed that easily.”

    “And 19 has the most complex programming I’ve ever seen, and it’s possible that... that his routines are connected to each other? Like… fuck, how do I explain that?” Tilly does a little wriggle, and hell, from her little quirks alone Hugh definitely understands why Michael fell in love with her.

He really is that lonely, isn’t he?

    “You gotta, like… think of code as… well, think of it like anatomy! So, if I detach the, uh, I don’t know, like, if I detach one organ -”

    “Except you can’t just detach an organ like that, Tilly.”

    “My point exactly! 19 probably works in a way where I can’t do it that way. He isn’t just a computer or a stereo, he’s so much more complex than that.”

    “Thanks,” 19 snaps.

    “But! You can usually find a workaround, right? Where, uh, you can take out - or disable - the bad parts, right?”

Tilly makes a face. “Probably? I don’t know, I’ve never - it’s all very advanced. I’m gonna have to keep… well. Uh. Well. Uhh… I’ll have to… well. Wait. Hmm.” She dissolves into muttering under her breath.

Hugh throws a look to 19, but the android isn’t betraying an emotion. 

    “Can’t you, like, reprogram yourself?” he asks.

    “Can’t you, like, tell your body to stop producing cancer?”

Before Hugh can reply, Tilly joins the conversation again with: “Do you have an USB port somewhere that I didn’t find yet.”

A pregnant pause hangs in the air.

Hugh really shouldn’t make a joke now.

He opens his mouth but 19 cuts in with a very decisive “no?!” and that’s that.

    “Could we give you one? Let me see your wrist,” Tilly demands, pulling the appendage towards her and inspecting 19’s skin. “The weird thing is…” She runs a thumb over the inside of 19’s wrist. Hugh’s fingers tingle oddly. “I don’t know, I mean… you’re so human. And yet you’re not.”

    “I don’t have a heart.” 19’s voice is filled with some intangible bittersweet regret.

    “Oh but you do! You - the crazy thing is, you do. You’ve got a heart that’s pumping your version of blood through your… your arteries, you have arteries.”

    “But I don’t have a heart in the - in the spiritual sense. It’s just a pump.”

Hugh’s throat hurts. “You do have a heart,” he whispers, more to himself than the android. The way 19 had smiled during their staircase talk. How he holds himself different when he’s been insulted versus when he’s been praised. How he’s so innocent in wanting to understand. How naïve he is, but not stupid. 

    “You do have a heart,” he repeats, clearing his throat. “I - I’m a doctor, I know those things.”

Tilly’s smiling at him.

    “Aww, Hugh, that’s so romantic!”

Tilly needs to shut up.

    “Let’s talk USB ports.”

Tilly’s thumb does the stroking over 19’s skin again, so gently. Hugh crosses his arms and digs his fingers into his palms.

    “Yeah, let’s,” Tilly says with a last smile at Hugh before turning back to 19.

That was pathetic of him, wasn’t it?

Tilly’s fingers remain around 19’s wrist, really gentle, stroking occasionally, and how 19 can remain so unfazed is a mystery to Hugh. 

They talk USB ports and power lines and how to attach a diagnostic device onto 19 while Hugh stares at the hint of blue veins showing through pale skin.

  
  


Later, Tilly takes 19 over to her lab and hooks him up to something again. Maybe a device that doesn’t need an USB port. Who knows.

Certainly not Hugh, who goes to work out again and chastise himself over what the fuck he was talking about with the heart business. 19 might be the most oblivious person on the planet, but even he will catch on one day and Hugh’s emotions really don’t need the dressing down he’d get then.

  
  


Hugh is almost asleep when he hears the door creak open and Tilly rattling around in the bathroom. He lets himself drift off again. Something tells him that soon he'll miss nights like this where he gets six, seven hours of uninterrupted sleep.

Tilly crawls into bed with him and snuggles up to him, and that's the last he remembers. She's nice and warm and comfortable.

  
  
  


    "Doctor Culber! Doctor Culber!" Detmer? Maybe?

Hugh groans and rolls around to blink at her.

    "The captain wants you and Tilly with him right now. I - that's all I know. But it's important."

The lieutenant's face looks pale and drawn. No wonder, since Lorca lets her run night duties a lot, for whatever reason. Hugh wishes he could muster the emotional energy to care.

Tilly snuffles and tries to cuddle back into him.

    "Time's it?" he asks, blinking at the poor lieutenant.

    "Just past three, sir."

    "AM?"

    "Yeah."

    "Fuck."

She grimaces in approximation of a smile. "Yeah."

  
  
  


Ten minutes later Hugh wraps his fingers around a cup of coffee that Detmer presses into his hands, smiling gratefully. Both he and Tilly are technically in uniform, but don't feel much like it. Lorca, on the other hand, looks as awake as always, pacing and making everyone uncomfortable.

    "We picked up this signal from the away team just about half an hour ago," Saru explains, his long fingers flicking over the buttons and making the screen flicker to life.

It's blurry and staticky, but there is Michael's face. 

    "Base, I hope you're receiving this. We found - well, we don't really know what we found. It's -  _ crrrk _ ."

The sound cuts off suddenly, and all that's left is Michael's face talking inaudibly for a little bit longer, clearly insisting on something, and then the camera swerves onto a tall building behind her. A quick shot of Lieutenant Tyler watching their surroundings, clearly alert, and then the video cuts out too.

    "This is all we got. This was received at oh-two-seventeen, then we received a short blip approximately five minutes later, and ever since we haven't heard from them team again."

    "I instructed both Burnham  _ and _ Tyler to send blips every half hour," Lorca practically huffs. "They failed to send out the two blips before this last one, and now it has been well over half an hour, and they haven't blipped yet."

    "So something happened to them." Best to address the elephant in the room right away, right?

    "No!" Tilly says immediately. "Maybe - maybe they forgot. Maybe, uh, the structure they're at blocks their signal. Maybe they went to explore it and forgot."

    "What is that structure though?" Lorca stares at Tilly. "Do you know? Because I don't, and I would like to."

    "A wreck? Probably a wreck, right? There are tons of wrecks in the mountains." Tilly doesn't sound sure.

Hugh wonders what the hell he's doing here. He could be in bed, snuggled under a thin blanket, blissfully dreaming of whatever he dreams of these days. Nothing good, probably, but still better than wrapping himself around a cup of watery coffee.

    "If I may -" Saru, always trying to stay polite and unobtrusive even though they're in a fucking war. Hugh wants to laugh. "- it did look rather like a building."

    "But who built it? It has to be a wreck of some kind. I mean - who would go into the mountains to build a - something there?"

    "Saru, show us a still of that thing."

Lorca's First does as ordered, managing to get a decent still of the structure.

    "Looks like a monolith to me," Hugh offers, just to warrant his awake state by contributing  _ something _ at the very least. "Maybe a remnant from another culture that was here? Maybe they died out? A global extinction event."

Lorca waves his hand dismissively. "There's no data that supports an extinction event."

    "What about those designs?" Tilly steps closer to the screen. "Do you guys see that? These faint green lines here?"

They all take a step closer.

    "That's not Klingon," Hugh says. "They don't even really use green. It's bad luck in their culture."

    "So you see them too?"

    "Fascinating." Oh, Saru. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but these are not designs used by any Earth civilization, are they? Tilly, could you run an encryption program over them?"

    "I - doubt it, to be honest. Well, I'd have to see whether I can clear the image up first. Let me try something." She moves over to the console and begins tapping away.

Hugh takes a sip of his coffee and stares at the picture. The lines green lines are barely visible, but once you've seen them it's hard to un-see them.

There's a sudden ping from the console, and the still is replaced by Lieutenant Tyler's face.

    "Base, come in. This is Lieutenant Ash Tyler, away team one! We have -  _ chchchk _ \- went inside, and -  _ hrrrrg _ \- Burnham -  _ ttttttttt _ \- can't get her signal -  _ chhh _ \- do you copy? Base, come in!"

    "Can we reply?" Lorca rounds in on Tilly, who almost jumps away from the console.

    "No, sir, it's one way, and the signal is horribly bad."

    "Well, then improve it."

Tyler looks around himself frantically, like he's afraid of being surprised.

    "She left. I don't know why, but -" Both audio and video break up for a moment. "- and keeps talking about someone called 'Pippa', that she's -  _ zhhhh _ \- in her sleep. I don't know whether she's who she says she is. And this base is not - we can't get a clear signal, we can't blip anymore. It's a huge monolith, glowing at night, that's how we found it. We were able to open it with a, um -  _ chhhk _ \- and go inside. It's mostly empty, but we were able to get data downloads from two terminals, except they're in a completely undecipherable language.  _ Zzzzzz _ \- located at the edge of a huge cliff. Burnham assumes it was under water once, but... well, not anymore. Whatever it is, it's technology unlike anything I've ever  _ ssskk _ \- - -" The video blurs again. "There are - -"

Tyler cuts off.

    "Get him back!" Lorca snaps. 

Tilly's fingers fly over the console.

    "I can't - I can't get a lock. His position is super vague, I can't get a lock on him. There's a huge energy source in the area that's blocking me. It might be that monolith-thing."

    "We need to send a squad out there," Hugh says. "Captain, whatever that is, it doesn't sound good. We need to send someone out there to get them out."

    "Too risky. Detmer, have someone ready the dish. I want a long-range scan." Lorca drums his fingers on the console. "Tilly, you take those recordings and work out what that monolith is and what the hell Tyler was talking about. Saru, I want sentries doubled, patrols doubled. Culber, you're with me." Lorca tilts his head in the direction of his private conference room. "And leave the bot outside."

No love lost between Lorca and 19 then, Hugh thinks and follows. He'll have to talk to 19 later, see what his thoughts on that monolith are, because he's been awfully quiet, just hovering behind Hugh's shoulder.

The door snaps close behind him. Lorca moves to stand behind his table, supporting himself on it with his forearms.

    "This is strictly confidential. Give me your professional assessment of Michael Burnham."

Oh. So that's how it's going to be then.

    "She's a very driven and highly professional individual." 

Maybe he can get away with that. Hugh takes another sip of coffee, suppressing a wince at the now cold liquid.

    "M-hm. And?"

    "And what, sir?"

    "Well, according to Lieutenant Tyler she lost her mind, ran into what we assume to be an alien facility of some kind, rambling about a 'Pippa'. Sound familiar?"

    "I have no idea what you are referring to."

    "You informed me that Burnham was coping well with Captain Georgiou's death. And now it sounds like she's mad. I thought that maybe you would like to explain that."

Well, this is difficult.

    "Permission to speak freely, sir?"

    "Granted."

Alright.

    "I'm a paediatrician. This is a war. Burnham is a scientist. I think we can both agree that neither of us are particularly well equipped to handle this situation."

    "Go on."

Hugh swallows. "When I checked in on Burnham, which I did regularly, she didn't mention anything abnormal." He's treading on very thin ice now. Gotta be careful. "I cleared her for this mission as well as I could, considering the time I was given and the facilities I have. And - out of the two of them, Burnham is not the one with the most baggage. I think you're missing a bigger picture here, sir."

    "And what would that be?"

    "I don't know. But there's something in the mountains. I was thinking it might be a hallucinogen of some sorts, but... now, with that monolith there, I think it might indeed be some alien technology that's influencing both Tyler and Burnham."

    "Hm." Lorca stares at him. 

    "Sir, we need to send a rescue team. Whatever it is, it's not safe for them to be there."

    "I'll be the judge of that. Doctor, I need you to have your medbay ready. If I'm right about this, we're going to need you to be in peak condition very soon."

    "What about Burnham and Tyler?"

    "They're both skilled soldiers. I expect them to put their training to use. Dismissed."

    "Sir -!"

    "You're dismissed, doctor. Go collect your bot."

  
  


19's face is worryingly stoic.

    "Let's see whether Tilly found something, shall we?" Hugh mutters in his general direction.

Of course he doesn't get an answer. Well. Maybe it's understandable.

  
  


    "Tilly?" Hugh calls into her workshop.

    "Over here!"

She's hidden behind several large consoles and surrounded by screens, all of which are showing Tyler's panicked face.

    "Anything yet?"

Tilly turns around to Hugh, eyes wide and fearful.

    "Yeah. Look at this. I looked through every single frame we got out of the video - well, I let a program do it - to see whether there are any, like, changes, or anything happening in the background. Look at these." She clicks through several stills, each one minutely moving Tyler. "See this shadow here?"

    "Yes. And?"

    "Well - there's no way that that's Michael. No matter how - she doesn't even wear - no matter how much armour you put on her, she doesn't have a silhouette like this. No matter which angle, or how the light is."

    "Tilly..."

    "It's - could be a statue, but... see these next few frames?"

The shadow moves. Extends what might be an arm.

    "Hugh..."

He hugs her. "Tilly - they'll - they'll be fine. They're great soldiers, both of them."

The words sit cold and uneasy in his stomach.

    "They'll be fine, Tilly."

    "Oh my goooood." Her voice is high and tiny.

    "They'll be fine, they'll be fine, they'll be fine. Just - believe in them. They can do it. Michael can do it." Hugh tries not to breathe the shaking breath he wants to breathe. He doesn't need his PhD to know he'll never see Michael again. Whatever that facility in the mountains is, whatever the visions she's had mean, whatever creature the skeletons belong to - Michael will never know any of that.

Tilly chokes a first sob out and Hugh buries his face in her locks. He can't let this get to him, but it's already clawing at his heart. Michael is dead. Just another faceless victim of this war, except he  _ knew her _ . She was his  _ friend _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm SORRY that was mean :D (does it help if i swear there's no permadeaths of likeable characters in this fic?)


	10. X.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI HELLO I AM SO SORRY FOR THE DELAY I MEANT TO HAVE THIS UP ON SUNDAY AND THEN I WAS JUST... y'know. lazy. welp.  
> i'm really sorry i had this ready and all but then i read harry potter and watched the movies and... you know how it is (which brings me to a very important question: are there culmets hp aus out there anywhere? i'm def not still waiting on my letter and def not still totally enamoured with that world even though it's ridiculous and all that)
> 
> ANYWAYS i promise i'll upload chapter 11 on time!
> 
> in this one we've got angst and also some fluff. next chapter will be lots of fluff. enjoy!  
> there are mentions of surgery and a very tiny mention of cannibalism, but nothing graphic!

Hugh spends the better part of the night awake, rubbing Tilly's back while she sobs into his shoulder and chest before eventually falling asleep, exhausted. Through some miracle (or rather her fear of Captain Lorca) she had been able to pull herself together for long enough to present what little she had found to Lorca, who had then locked himself in with a call to High Command and left them to their devices. Then Tilly had had to urgently finish up all the repairs she had on her list while Hugh had moved back to his medbay, cleaning up a little before he too was assaulted with proper work - a patrol brought back two badly injured pilots.

19 had stayed uncharacteristically silent, hovering a little, but not offering any sort of commentary.

And now they're here, a good twenty hours after being woken up, and Hugh is staring at a ceiling that he can't even see in the darkness, wishing he felt something other than the emptiness inside. Of course he hadn't been as close to Michael as he is to Tilly, but Tilly is basically his little sister. Michael is - was,  _ was _ "just" a good friend. And now she's gone.

Hugh remembers when he lost his first patient. A little boy, just turned seven. The cancer started in his eyes and spread to his brain. They tried chemotherapy, they tried ocular erasure, they tried brain surgeries. In the end he sat by his side for six hours in silent vigil, together with his mother, until the little one had breathed his last breath.

It broke him; he remembers that much. Remembers holding the mother later on, remembers taking the nonexistent vital signs to confirm what the machines were saying was true, remembers writing it all down and signing it off. Remembers sitting with his coffee in the break room later, waiting to feel something. Remembers going home and curling up in bed and staring at the wall. Remembers the tears starting, then the sobs, then muffling his screams in the pillow. Remembers working out that same day, which had been a bad idea, because he worked himself ragged, trying to punish himself for not being that kid's savior.

And now there's Michael, dead, same as all the ones that came before her. First, when he was still working, the kids. Then his grandmother. Then more kids. Then the war started.

    "I hope to bring light into people's lives. That when they're terrified and broken and alone because some sickness crashed into their lives and left them reeling, that I can make it better. That's why I want to become a doctor," he'd said in his interview to get into med school.

The kids had been terrified, not understanding what was happening with them, why they had to spend so much time inside hospitals and taking meds; the parents had been terrified of losing their little darlings. And Hugh got to sit down with them, to explain, to make it better, for a short while, or, like in many cases, forever.

Michael had been terrified too. Of what was happening to her, seeing Georgiou's ghost haunt her. Of the war.

And Tilly had been terrified too, of losing Michael.

And now she had. 

And Hugh should be feeling something. Because that's what humans do - they feel. Always, and especially when there's no place for feelings.

But the night world is quiet and there's all the place on Alterra for feelings now, and Hugh is sitting here and... waiting for the feelings to come. But they don't.

His body is tired and so are his eyes, but he can't sleep. He doesn't want to lose himself into the denial of sleep, instead hoping that maybe Michael's death will finally hurt him the way it should.

A horribly selfish part of him is also relishing in Tilly's body curled around him, the contact still lighting him up on the inside. It feels so nice to have this, after however long it's been since he's shared his bed with someone. A war isn't a place for casual hook ups or even relationships.

And, unbidden, his mind strays to 19 again. Who has a heart. Who'd feel warm and snuggly, probably, once he de-stiffened. And as much as Hugh loves Tilly, she's still female and Hugh is rather gay, thank you. And isn't it horrible that he'd like to have sex now; his friend just dead and his other friend clinging to him for support and all he wants is to lose himself in someone else. Feel alive, or something. An odd mix between wanting to escape all this and wanting to make his life right now better.

Even though it's doubtful that 19 would be interested.

Hugh almost laughs at that. Of course the android wouldn't be interested. But it is a nice thought to entertain. Hands on his skin and warm breath and a body against his, lips to kiss and a hand to hold. Gentle exploration with fingers and lips and tongue and sharing little laughs and being at once hyperaware of their surroundings as well as lightyears removed. Just… being together. Intimacy. God, how he misses that.

And the rabbits they had when they were kids, how they perpetually ruined his oldest sister’s white dress with grassy paw prints, and they’re running across Alterra and Hugh has to catch them but 19 is bathing in a spring, back to Hugh, turns around with his eyes a glowering red of the explosions of Klingon fire criss-crossing the ground with the planes so close above the ground like lightning bugs when he leans in to kiss his middle school crush, Lorca, wearing Klingon armor inside a convenience store, and -

    “Tilly! Tilly, Tilly, wake up, Doctor Culber, you too, wake up, it’s important!”

Hugh gasps and tries to sit up, sweaty shirt clinging to him, cold and uncomfortable.

Detmer. Again.

    “Doctor Culber, we  _ need  _ you down in medbay, right now. It’s Burnham, and it’s Tyler and - and everything is bad. Right now. Please.” She’s fretting, quite obviously, and still shaking Tilly’s shoulder.

Tilly isn’t moving, so Hugh crawls out of bed around her, puts on pants, and then a shirt, and then socks and then his boots and then a jacket, his fingers sluggish and not cooperating. He wants to go home, please, hug his mom.

19 is alert and frowning and he’s very cute and Tilly’s finally getting up too, getting into her boots and her jacket and then they all scramble down the stairs and -

The medbay is fully lit, blinding them, and Michael is sitting on one of the beds, hunched over, pressing two hands into her side, uniform blackened and burned and torn. Tyler’s on another bed, looking not much better, but -

    “Oh my god, you’re alive!” Tilly shrieks, falling over her feet to run to Michael, stumbling and falling onto her knees, hitting her chin on Michael’s knee before pulling her close so suddenly that Michael makes a distinct sound of pain.

Hugh needs to react.

Right, Michael is obviously bleeding, so he’ll have to tend to her first. 

    “19, I want you to help Tyler lie down on that bed properly. Take his vitals, give him a general assessment,” he commands, already hastening over to the bandage trolley.

  
  


Overall, it’s not too bad. Sure, Michael won’t walk on that ankle for a while, and Hugh really hopes he combated the infection successfully, the bandage is applying a nice amount of pressure; Tyler’s burns have been treated, his wrist reset and they’re both resting, with Tilly squeezing Michael’s hand and sitting at her bedside.

  
  


Hugh is staring down his rapidly diminished supply of medication when the first explosion reaches his ears and coats his heart like a blanket made from lead. So the next battle is here.

  
  


It comes as it always comes, first with quickly patching up some burns and… and then the rest. Explosions shake the ground around them and occasionally the ceiling is shaken enough for concrete dust to fall. Hugh locks himself away and goes to tend all these people in the most detached and professional way he can, where he’s not afraid, and not anything but a doctor.

  
  


He doesn’t even realize it’s stopped until suddenly he’s tended to every patient and there are no new ones coming in.

Instead, a young sun peers through the open doors and the windows up above, and…

Hugh turns to look over his patients, all of whom have been tended to, all of whom will survive, all of whom have pain meds, and there’s Michael, alive and as well as can be, and… things are fine.

The siren gives a signal - two high notes in quick succession. All is clear outside. So this was not as bad.

Hugh looks for 19 and has to smile. The android is listening closely to Lieutenant Rhys and helping him arrange the loop holding his broken arm. Who knew that 19 would make such a passable nurse? But then again - there is a lot of compassion in him, and a lot of willingness to help, once you get past the anger and the superiority and what might just be self-righteousness. Or maybe he’s just like that to Hugh. Or maybe he’s been touched by the war, and instead of making him harden up like it did to Hugh, it makes him soften.

There isn’t much time to really philosophize about, well, anything, so Hugh gets back to cycling the osteoregnerators out, cursing the Federation for not sending them the nice, light, handheld ones out here, that regenerate up to fifty percent faster and charge wirelessly. Instead, he has a few apparatuses the size of a late twentieth century ECG instrument.

    “Tell me, doctor.” Airiam shuffles herself in the correct position without prompting. She’s got a broken hip and a patella he’ll have to replace, and contusions in seven different places from managing to crash into a Klingon fighter (but still landing nicely), but she’s pretty chipper. That might be the meds though. “Is it just me, or do you feel like we’re winning, too? The battles have been shorter, the Klingons send out less and less planes… Injuries on our side are less severe.”

    “Well, I definitely hope for the best.”

    “Hey.” Her hand shoots out and curls warmly around his wrist. “We’re all going to go home, doc. Soon.”

    “I hope so. I miss quesadillas.”

She smiles broadly and flops back into the cushions.

    “Fifteen minutes on this and I’ll take it away again. If you’re experiencing serious pain, muscle spasms, tingling in your foot or calf or a burning sensation, yell at me, alright?”

He puts Evans under the osteo regen as well and then checks in with Rhys, scanning his wrist again, but this time with the big scanner. 19 watches over his shoulder.

    “Osteo regen for me too, sir?”

    “Hm. More like an operation. There’s a bone fragment in a very bad place, I don’t want it to grow into the nerve. Or worse, attach itself to your ulna.”

    “You can operate here?” 19 is surprised.

    “Well, I would prefer not to, because while I do have sterilization gear, I don’t have a fully sterile operating room… or steri showers… or containment fields… or any equipment that’s from this decade, but - see here? That fragment? I  _ could  _ try to realign it manually and hope for the best, but Lieutenant Rhys wouldn’t like me a whole lot for that, and I wouldn’t have any visuals on how close to the nerve I am.”

    “Is it an important nerve?”

    “The median nerve? Yeah, it’s pretty important. Assuming he wants to bend all his fingers and have sensitivity in his fingertips.”

    “But isn’t there bone or something around the nerve?” Rhys looks a little more pale than before. “Something to protect it. That’s - a thing, right?”

Hugh smothers his snicker. Left hand. Yeah, he’d be worried about that one too.

    “Think glorified cellophane wrap, but half as thick as what you’d get in a store. No, there’s nothing protecting your nerves. At least nothing that could withstand me blindly trying to snap bones back into place.”

    “But you can operate?”

Hugh zooms in on the scan and angles the camera, trying to see a little better. “Of course I can operate. I even - 19, can you check how much isoflurane I’ve got? I’ll put you under, of course, and I’m not that worried about infections, because people have not gotten infections under worse conditions, but there is of course a certain risk.”

    “Between you and me, doctor… it  _ is  _ my left hand.”

This time Hugh does chuckle. “And apart from that, I think we need our weaponist both-handed.”

    “Might be useful.”

    “I’ll go do my rounds and then I’ll see through my stash and consider how best to do this. Are you okay pain-wise?”

    “Oh, yeah, as long as I don’t move my arm, it barely hurts.”

    “Good, that’s good.”

  
  


19 does find isoflurane, and Hugh’s got a full crate of sterile equipment, and he’s got a microbial PWS that should be able to cover Rhy’s arm.

    “What’s the matter?” 19 asks, eyeing Hugh’s stash with interest. “Can’t you operate with that?”

    “I can.”

    “Then what’s the problem. Aren’t you supposed to help people to the best of your abilities as soon as possible?”

    “Exactly. The best of my abilities. 19, I’m a paediatrician specialized in pulmonology and cancer research.”

    “So?”

    “So operating, especially on an extremity, and on bones, isn’t exactly what I’m used to.”

    “So you can’t operate on him?”

    “I can. But… I’m - I’m scared of making a mistake.”

    “What would happen if you make a mistake?”

    “If I hurt the nerve, it’ll be damaged, and, depending on how severe, he might lose feeling and mobility. If I snap the nerve, well, then it’s even worse. If I hurt the artery, the only thing I could do is to cauterize it, which might lead to blood circulation problems in his hand, in which case the muscles might atrophy, in which case he’ll need a new hand. That’s not something I can do here.”

    “You could just regenerate the nerve.”

    “Not with the technology I have access to. I could try to patch it with a piece of nerve from somewhere else, but - I’m not much of a surgeon. Other than in theory, I know nothing about neuro grafting. I barely know much practice about bone and muscle surgery.”

    “But he needs your help. Why aren’t you helping him?”

    “Because I’m afraid of failing!” Hugh flinches just as his voice gets louder. He checks their surroundings, but his patients don’t seem to have heard him. “Because I’m afraid of failing,” he repeats more quietly. “I know, losing sensitivity and some muscle functions in your hand isn’t that big of a deal, technically, and yeah, if we - once we get home, he can have a new hand if he needs it or whatever, but if he needs it, and if he’s impacted by this surgery in any way that’s bad, then it’s going to be my fault. And I’ll have to live with that. I don’t think you understand that”

19 turns towards him fully, frown now prominent on his beautiful, beautiful face. “No, I don’t. If you operate on him to the best of your knowledge in a situation where he literally does not have another option, how is it your fault if you don’t do it as well as another surgeon might have?”

     “Because it could hurt him. I’m responsible for this surgery. Me. Not some potential other surgeon. No matter what I do, I am responsible for the outcome. So - tell me how I’m just supposed to say fuck it.”

19 purses his lips and looks away, swallowing a little like there’s something he wants to say but can’t.

    “I’m sure you’ll - do fine,” he says eventually. “You - you’re very good. To all of them. You’ll do the right thing.”

    “I hope I do, yeah.”

  
  


19 assists him in the surgery. Not that there’s much he can do, really; not that it is a huge surgery, either, but having someone hand him things and peering inquisitively and nodding sagely after each answered question like Hugh is a bastion of infallible knowledge, that’s calming in its own way.

There are no complications. Hugh mends the broken off piece back to the radius, does a few sweeps for bone splinters, most of which he takes out because they’re absolutely tiny, closes the wound and has 19 turn on the osteo regen. Rhys wakes up and is in little to no pain and maybe the sunshine outside is justified.

  
  


Hugh is snapping the blades off the scalpels and dunking everything he can reuse in a hypersterilizing solution when Tilly zooms into his little cubicle.

    “Hi,” she stage-whispers. “How’s my girlfriend?”

    “Missing you dearly and healing up nicely. I’m glad to have her back.”

    “Oh, me too! I… I was so afraid, Hugh. Thank you for… for being there for me. Also is she - is she good to go already, or do you need her to stay?”

    “You can take her with you. Take it easy, be mindful of her ankle, dote on her, don’t make her walk unless she absolutely has to, and if she tries to walk without her crutches, rat her out to me immediately, okay?”

    “Okay.”

    “Oh, and - Tilly!”

She stops to turn, almost outside the storage room already.

    “Painkillers. She’s got enough in her dispenser to last her the next couple days, and whether she sits around here and waits for the regen sessions, or somewhere in your lab or wherever, that doesn’t make a difference except I don’t have to constantly take her vitals. Plus you two get to do that thing you call flirting.”

    “It’s not a ‘thing’. It’s actual flirting.”

    “You guys drag Vonnegut and procedural cop shows. That’s not flirting. That’s… that’s just weird.”

    “Well.” Tilly leans against the door jamb and smiles sweetly. “At least I am actually flirting with the person I want to - and am - in a committed relationship with. So you -” She does a funny head wriggle. “- don’t get to talk.”

And off she goes. Hugh chuckles to himself. Tilly is such a sweetheart.

  
  


He tidies in between taking vital signs and switching the various regeneration units around. Lorca comes in after a bit with a nasty cut in his forehead, a bit prissy in Hugh’s opinion, but (unfortunately) it’s nothing bad and he stomps off again soon enough.

Tyler leaves as well, his hand not impeding with his movements and usefulness too much in the acaptain’s opinion, so he gets on repairing duty.

Eventually the other soldiers trundle in, getting quick treatments for smaller cuts and bruises, twisted limbs and cracked ribs. Hugh has to yell at Ensign Frye for walking around with three pieces of shrapnel lodged in various body parts but not showing up earlier because, “it wasn’t that bad”, there are a couple blood transfusions necessary for other idiots who thought they were still fine (hint: they weren’t), but overall, it’s not too bad.

    “This battle was not as bad, was it?” 19 asks him, sidling up next to Hugh, who’s surveying the scene.

    “No, it wasn’t.”

    “Why? Are you winning the war?”

Hugh snorts. “I wish. Uh, I don’t know. I… I really don’t know. I hope so, of course, but I couldn’t tell you.”

    “Why not?”

‘Why?’ seems to be 19’s new favorite question.

    “Well, we barely know their troop movements. Or how many people they have left standing. It could all be an elaborate farce and they’re stretched thin and already losing, or it’s an elaborate farce and they really have battalions upon battalions lurking somewhere. We don’t know.”

    “Why not?”

    “No intelligence anywhere, no successful spies, no deserters from them… or - maybe they are, but then again, Captain Lorca didn’t tell  _ me _ , so, well, I can’t tell you anything.” 

Hugh can see 19 staring at him from the side. The weight of his gaze curls happily in Hugh’s stomach, and even though 19 probably has further questions, and he’s not just looking at Hugh for the sake of looking, well, he could still get used to it.

But of course it’s short-lived.

    “Satellites! There are satellites!”

Hugh throws him a bemused look. “Not on Alterra.”

    “Well.  _ Obviously  _ not  _ on  _ Alterra, but in orbit.”

    “Not in orbit either.”

The android looks, well, hell, almost furious. And it’s… god, it’s really cute.

    “So you’re telling me that you people die by the  _ dozen _ because you have no adequate intelligence set ups?! That - that - that is the most idiotic thing I have  _ ever  _ heard! You’re all dying for no reason other than your superiors’ harebrained capitalistic ideology that they value higher than human lives!”

Hugh shrugs. “Oh, you know…”

    “What’s that supposed to mean! They’re - it’s - why are they even sending you here if they have no intention of giving you the least support to win this war! It’s completely pointless to -”

    “Keep your voice down. Look - I… if I’m honest, I don’t know what’s going on on Earth anymore. It - there was - several years ago there was an instance where… ah, how do I explain that to you? It was like someone had flipped a lever. The world went from ‘well on its way to becoming a post-capitalist peaceful society’ to… well, to call it by its name… to a dystopia, I suppose.”

    “So coming here to die is a better idea than -”

    “Nobody is coming here to die, 19. It - I - well.”

    “Why are there no satellites? Why are you fighting on land anyways?! Why not use spaceships?”

    “We can’t. Alterra is - they didn’t tell us, see. We didn’t know. There were surveys, and there were results, and they didn’t tell us about them and sent us up here with reassurances. The truth is that Alterra is the worst possible planet to go to. And that - before the war, we used to be able to leave. And then the Klingons came. You can’t see it from here, but ever since they - we - oh, someone fired first, and there was a space battle, which is why Alterra is now lacking a moon. Instead, the asteroid field around the planet is now so dense that once you manage to land and survive that, it’s absolutely impossible to leave the planet.” Hugh throws 19 a look to see how he’s taking the news.

    “So you’re… stuck here. Forever. You’ll die, here.” 19 looks pale.

    “Unless we win the war. If we win the war, and the Klingons all, well, die or turn themselves over, then we might be able to send clearing ships that would clear the asteroid field. And then ships could land and take off again, with us.”

    “But if you don’t win the war…” The android’s voice is soft now, disbelieving and scared, sounding how Hugh had felt when he’d heard the news.

    “I don’t think we’ll make it for too long in Klingon captivity. They tend to, um, from what we’ve heard -” And from what Tyler had mentioned during their talk before he and Michael went on his mission. Or rather from what Tyler hadn’t said. “- they tend to conserve their stores when they have human prisoners they have no use for.”

19 doesn’t respond. It is quite a bit to take in, after all. 

Hugh wraps his arms around himself to warm up a bit, because the draught from the open doors is cold. Not that it matters to Lorca, who had ordered them to stay open, for whatever reason. At least everyone has a blanket. And at least it’s the comparatively warm sun that is out, not the frosty moon.

Nobody complains, either. The last winter took that out, and now they’re happy with what little they get.

    “They eat them,” 19 says. Not asks, says. He understood.

    “Yeah.”

    “Do you? Eat your prisoners?”

    “No. Not that we take many, but no.”

    “That’s something.”

Hugh scoffs. “We pride ourselves on ‘retaining our humanity’, but here we are, shooting at other lifeforms. Killing them. At the moment it’s still adults, but… who knows. We’ve almost stooped low enough to kill children again.”

    “Again?”

    “In the 21st century, that was… not quite legal, but there were countries where there were little repercussions and everyone could own as many weapons as they wanted. It was explained away with this and that, you know, that the person was mentally ill or whatnot, something that would mark the community of mentally ill people as the scapegoat so society didn’t have to come to terms with being dysfunctional, and everyone sent thoughts and prayers, and… well.”

    “How about taking the weapons away?” 19 says dryly.

    “People complained that that would not allow them to protect themselves.” 

    “But if nobody had any weapons -”

    “Exactly.”

    “That’s  _ stupid _ .”

    “Exactly,” Hugh repeats. 

    “And also - mental illnesses can be treated! It doesn’t excuse -”

    “Oh, I know, I know. Eventually enough people found some intelligence laying on the ground like money and picked it up and thought about the issue a bit, and then the weapons were gone, and suddenly a lot less people got shot. Wonder why. Then even more people found some intelligence laying around, and we started solving our problems with diplomacy. We realized that we’re all human, no matter what we look like or believe in, and we were all able to agree on that, and we pooled all our resources and suddenly we progressed faster and faster.”

    “It’s a wonder you people ever reached the space age before going extinct by your own stupidity.”

    “Pretty much, yeah. But we got better.” He watches 19, checking whether maybe that consoles him a little. “We got lots better.”

    “And then it all went to hell.”

    “And now we’re here.”

    “What happened?”

Hugh shrugs. “I don’t know. I simply - I don’t know. Natural disasters. Sudden scarcity of resources. Regional governments fell and fell and fell, like dominos, because allegedly they had all lied about - everything. It’s like the bubble had popped. One day, things were fine, and the next it all went downhill. Of course then people started saying that obviously, an utopia like that was just not sustainable, and it was bound to fail. Hah. As if. So… well, it’s been seven years since then, and sometimes I don’t - well.” Hugh clears his throat. There are some things, some worries that he shouldn’t tell 19. 

    “You don’t think it will ever be the way it was.”

Or 19 is smart enough to figure them out on his own.

    “I grew up in the closest thing to an utopia my planet has ever seen,” Hugh says quietly. “Of course I’m still shell-shocked by how fast things went wrong.”

    “My creator used to tell me about it. Nobody had to be hungry. Everyone had a place to live, a job, a right to free education, free healthcare. There were libraries, theaters, parks. Public transport. Clean energy. No wars.”

    “No wars,” Hugh repeats. “The worst disaster in my - in my lifetime, that was a ship accident. The crew didn’t pay attention and they ran aground, had to abandon the ship. Couple people died. But… in this war, I’ve seen double the amount of people die, and that’s only this battalion. I knew I would see death. I’m a doctor, I was in oncology after all, and that’s still - there are still a lot of - we can’t do much in a lot of cases. It’s not completely curable yet. But there’s a difference.”

    “You can help them, can’t you? Help them pass along better?”

    “Yeah. That. Can’t do that here. They just… die. Sooner or later, they die. And I, I watch.”

He meets 19’s eyes. There’s something inscrutable in them, and more emotion than Hugh has ever seen on him.

    “Guess you know how that feels,” he admits. “Watching someone die.”

    “I do.”

Hugh reaches over and grips 19’s shoulder, allowing him to lean into the touch.

    “I wish I could offer you some kind of comfort, but… it doesn’t get easier.”

    “Isn’t that what being human means? Being compassionate?  _ Feeling _ ?”

    “Unfortunately, yes.”

19 stares down on his shoes.

    “Are the others the same? The other androids?”

    “I never asked one. But I don’t think they are. You’re - you’re very different, 19.”

Human, Hugh wants to say. Because the shoulder under his fingers feels like muscle and skin and bone. Because he’d heard the little encouragements 19 had passed, albeit sounding a little stiff and inexperienced, onto the injured soldiers, seen glimpses of the smiles he’d given them and… yeah, long shot from the angry and brusque man Lorca shoved at him three weeks ago.

    “You’re a good man,” Hugh’s traitorous mouth says.

19 scoffs. “Hardly.”

    “What? Of course you are.”

    “I’m hardly a man.”

19’s shoulder is still seeping warmth into Hugh’s hand.

    “More than a lot of people.”

    “That doesn’t particularly endear your species.” 19 turns to look at Hugh, really look at him, holding his gaze. There’s so much there in his eyes that Hugh almost doesn’t see the tiny, teasing smirk curling the edge of his lips. His heart beats somewhere high in his throat.

    “You seem to find us plenty endearing.”

19 blinks, breaks the look between them and stares down on his shoes, cheeks reddening a bit.

    “Some of you, yes.”

Hugh steps closer, lets his hand slip down to 19’s shoulderblade, still feeling the heat; normal body warmth, sure, but Hugh has always run cold.

He doesn’t really know what to say though, so he just stands there, rubbing 19’s back a little.

    “You’re a really great guy,” he says eventually. “I - yeah, I’m glad you’re here with me. And... it’s funny, but you’ve gotten more and more human every day. Sorry, that’s probably offensive.”

    “No, I get what you mean. Thank you. That… means a lot. I mean I’m still not - human, I’ve got a liquid pump instead of a heart, and a serial number for a name, but I do feel more - more alive, if that makes sense.”

His eyes meet Hugh’s again and neither of them look away for a long moment.

    “You could choose a name.” Hugh’s mouth is dry.

19 nods, breaking eye contact again and smiling to himself.

    “Can I tell you a secret?”

    “Sure.”

    “When I - when I became aware properly, you know, sapient, I started wishing for a name pretty much instantly. And then… when I - during the time I was decommissioned, I had a lot of free time to think about my options.”

    “So you’ve got a name.”

    “Nobody has ever called me by it though.”

    “I will. If you want to tell me, I will.”

    “Paul.”

_ Paul _ . Hugh’s heart is fluttering erratically now. They’re standing very close.

    “Nice to meet you, Paul.”


	11. XI.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO HERE WE ARE FOR CHAPTER 11 (which is almost on time - it's 2am monday here, so i'd say i'm all good)
> 
> this is a bit of a filler chapter - i wanted to give everyone some space to breathe, because god knows they deserve it, but you know how it is, the minute there's no life-death situation going on, hugh and paul are either at each other's throats or making heart eyes at each other  
> so this chapter is kind of sickeningly cute :D
> 
> also towards the end - the last bit (where they all have a Talk about wtf happened with michael and ash), there's some body horror i guess? right after the part where they describe a ~message~ they got, so if that's not your jam, skip a couple lines (though it's not much)
> 
> also if you want to really experience fear, go play subnautica. it's a great game and very scary. play it with headphones, why don't you? (it's so scary good god) (alsO i mean sunrises is based on that so yeah)
> 
> ANYWAYS LET'S GET THIS SHOW ON THE ROAD  
> (btw, there's cookies for whoever finds the ace joke :D)

Once again, Hugh is nudged awake rather than waking up with his alarm, but it’s a lot less insistent than usually. He’s allowed to groan and roll away, trying to stay asleep rather than wake up and face the ugly reality outside, and after he’s rolled away the nudger leaves him be.

Nice, Hugh thinks, and falls asleep again.

  
  
  


    “Doctor Culber, this time I  _ have  _ to insist.” The voice is amused rather than angry.

Hugh makes a noise that he hopes accurately conveys his annoyance and presses his face deeper into his pillow. The hand on his shoulder keeps shaking him a little.

    “Doctor Culber, please get up. I know you don’t want to, but your patients need you.”

He flops onto his back and squints up at the person above him. Surprisingly, the room’s lights aren’t on, so the only light there is is from the grey of dawn. 

Paul cocks his head and keeps watching Hugh.

    “I didn’t know me saying please would work that well.”

He steps back and withdraws his hand, Hugh immediately missing the contact.

    “Morning, Paul,” Hugh says, yawns, and almost misses the flash of surprise on Paul’s face. “What, thought I’d forget?”

    “I - no.”

    “You’re a horrible liar.”

He can see Paul trying to clamp down on the smile that’s threatening to emerge. He fails, of course. And if that isn’t a wonderful way to start his morning.

  
  


After checking through his patients and putting on the first round of regenerators while being stared at out of bleary eyes, some even going so far as to complain that they’re “ _ injured _ , so how come you wake us at the  _ break of dawn _ ?!”, he changes into workout clothes, hoping to get in a quick run before camp activity picks up and he’s running with all of them.

But before he can leave the building, Paul intercepts him.

    “Are you going for a run?”

    “Uh.” Hugh gestures at his attire. “Yeah, why?”

    “You haven’t eaten since… the day before yesterday, probably. I didn’t even keep  _ track,  _ I am so sorry. Doctor Culber -”

    “Hugh.”

    “Excuse me?”

    “It’s Hugh.”

Paul looks completely thrown, but he recovers.

    “Alright. Hugh. You can’t go for a run, you need to eat.” And then: “Don’t disagree with me. I would prefer not having to question the decision that was made to give you your medical degree?”

A tiny, sly smile forms on his face.

    “Oh. So that’s how it’s going to be then, is it?”

    “I only have your well-being in mind.”

    “If you did, you’d wait on me with a full continental breakfast and hot chocolate every morning,” Hugh says, watching how the sun, that slowly turned a bright early morning orange, plays on Paul’s hair and the shell of his ear.

But apparently that had been the wrong thing to say, because Paul’s face falls.

    “I’d try, but… I don’t even know what a continental breakfast is.”

    “Let’s get what passes for breakfast here and I’ll tell you.”

  
  


The mess hall is still empty, so every noise they make sounds oddly loud. Paul sits opposite Hugh, resting his crossed arms on the table and watching Hugh eat.

    “Aren’t you going to -?”

    “I have tastebuds,” Paul deadpans.

Hugh chuckles because yeah, that’s a good reason for not wanting army food. “I think mine died a long time ago. So - tell me something. How do you get your energy then? You don’t eat. I haven’t seen you stick your finger into a socket yet, and your skin is the wrong color for you to use solar power. So?”

    “I’ll tell you how I charge if you tell me what a continental breakfast is.”

Hugh grins and stares down onto his plate, which definitely does not hold anything that good.

    “It’s… usually what you’d get in hotels, or on planes. You know, kind of nondescript, but… really good. There’d be scrambled egg, sausages, a selection of bread rolls, croissants… jam, cold cuts. Coffee, orange juice, maybe tea. Cut up fruits. Cornflakes.” His voice takes on a wistful note. “Hardboiled eggs and grapefruits and slices of toast. Sometimes pancakes.”

    “What does that all taste like?”

    “Well… pretty good. Better than this. And if you’re somewhere really fancy, you’ll never want to stop eating because it’s so good. Oh, and waffles! Sometimes they’d have waffles.”

    “Do you like them?”

    “Oh, yeah. Waffles with vanilla ice cream, and they’re so hot that they keep melting the ice.”

    “What does that taste like?”

    “Oh, I don’t know. Really good. Warm and cold at the same time, a bit crispy, and sweet and soft. It’s really good. Where I grew up, there was a waffle house nearby, and sometimes when we begged enough, our parents would take us there for breakfast on saturdays.”

    “You have siblings?”

    “Three sisters. Two older, one younger. They’ve all got kids by now, it’s so weird.”

    “Do you want kids?”

Hugh laughs. “Oh god, not you too. My mom keeps asking me. The truth is, I don’t know. Maybe… maybe if the war is over, and I’m back home, and things are good, and I’ve got a job and a loving partner. Maybe then. I know my mom would love a couple more grandchildren, but she said it would also be okay if I adopted some animals instead. And it’s not like she doesn’t have four little ones already from my sisters. Though I think a fifth one was on its way.”

    “That sounds… really nice. A family.”

    “You could have one too,” Hugh says unthinkingly. “Or - well. Fuck, sorry.”

    “Yeah, not really. It’s fine. It’s fine.”

    “Tell me how you charge?”

    “I really hope you didn’t need to be good at changing the topic smoothly, because otherwise I’d have to doubt you got your MD legally.”

    “Oh, so as soon as I call you by your name, you’re going to give me sass? Is that how it is?”

    “Yes?” 

Paul’s eyes sparkle bluely. Hugh can’t look away. Yes, bluely. Because Paul seems to make him a little stupid.

    “Good. Gonna have to keep doing it then, don’t I?”

    “I -” And is Paul blushing there? “I’d like that, yes.”

    “Right. Yeah.”

Hugh’s cheeks are really hot now. He hopes it’s not too visible.

    “It’s a bioreactor, by the way.”

    “Excuse me?”

    “A bioreactor,” Paul repeats. “I run on one. Also on salts.”

    “So you do need to eat!”

    “Obviously.”

    “But - you never do! How are you still, you know, up and running?”

Paul suddenly averts his eyes.

    “Hang on, I’ll get you breakfast.”

    “No!” Paul’s hand shoots forward to trap Hugh’s wrist against the table. “No, that, uh, that won’t be necessary.”

     “What? But I’ve never seen you eat!”

     “I - ugh, I eat nutri bars.”

Hugh slides back into his seat slowly. Paul doesn’t loosen the grip on his wrist.

    “Nutri bars. That can’t be tasty.”

    “Is that stuff any better?”

    “Good point. So - wait, so that’s where the stock in my office went!”

Paul flinches and eyes the table.

    “Maybe.”

    “I wish I had something better to offer you. Tell you what - when we get home, I’ll show you what proper food tastes like.”

    “I really hope it’s good. Because I’d rather not have to find out that everyone has been lying.”

    “Who else have you talked about food with?” Hugh tries not to sound jealous.

    “Tilly?”

Oh. Oh, that’s fine then. Tilly is fine.

    “What did she tell you?”

    “About cake. And… something else that I didn’t quite understand, but mostly about cake.”

    “Yeah, Tilly loves cake almost as much as she loves Michael.”

    “And you?”

    “Michael is a good friend.”

    “No, I mean, do you like cake too?”

    “Honestly, I’d be worried if someone didn’t like cake.”

Hugh places his utensils neatly on the plate. God, he seriously had been super hungry. Still is, if he’s honest, but unfortunately unused rations don’t stack, and he’s not stupid enough to assume the dispenser won’t notice if he tries to swipe his badge again in such a short time. At any rate, it would lose him his lunch. 

He still shoots the dispenser a slightly wistful look.

And of course Paul notices.

    “Are you still hungry?”

    “Oh - no, I’m fine.”

Paul gives him the most deadpan stare. Hugh feels himself flushing again.

    “Alright, fine, yeah, of course I’m still hungry. I skipped food all day yesterday, and I’ve been sleeping too little. Of course I’m hungry.”

Paul shakes his head and gets up to cross over to the line of dispensers.

    “Please don’t tell me you’ll try to hack them,” Hugh calls after him, but Paul doesn’t indicate that he’s been heard. Instead, he studies the display.

    “Is there really only one option?” he calls to Hugh.

    “Well, no. There’s breakfast, lunch and dinner.”

    “But only breakfast is available right now.”

    “Well, it is breakfast time, so of course only breakfast is available.”

Hugh grins to himself. Paul is really sweet.

Paul sets the tray down in front of Hugh, frowning at it a little.

    “Gonna tell me how you hacked the dispenser?”

    “I swiped my badge. Apparently nobody bothered to make one specifically for a bot.” Paul is careful in keeping the disdain at the word out of his voice, but there’s still an undercurrent.

    “I’ve worked with ‘bots’ before,” Hugh says, crooking his fingers for doing the quotation marks around ‘bots’. “You’re hardly one of them.”

    “How can you be sure?”

    “Because I think if, after a long day, I’d snap at you, you’d give me shit for it.”

    “Of course I would.”

    “See?”

    “That’s your justification?”

    “It also makes you a lot more fun to hang around with.” Hugh winks and gives Paul’s shin a gentle kick under the table.

    “I… see. Well, actually I don’t, but…”

    “You’re a fun guy, Paul. Took me a while to get used to having you around, but you’re fun.”

    “Thank you!”

They sit in quiet for several minutes while Hugh eats the second helping of breakfast.

    “Did you and Tilly ever get anywhere with your code thing?” he asks suddenly. Because… Paul has been good the last couple of days, and Hugh would very much like for it to stay that way.

Paul sighs softly.

    “Not really. She had some good ideas, but… I think she needs more time.”

    “Right. Sorry. I’m sure she’ll find a way.”

    “Me too. I don’t -” Paul looks away, suddenly tense. “I don’t like not being in control. I - when my creator died…” He doesn’t finish his sentence. He doesn’t need to, either. Hugh knows what he means.

    “It’s one of the worst feelings, not being in control,” he agrees.

Paul chuckles mirthlessly. “You have no idea. And I want - this is going to sound childish, but I don’t want you to hate me.”

    “I don’t hate you. None of us - well, uh. Tilly doesn’t hate you either. Neither does Michael. I doubt Tyler hates you. Airiam certainly doesn’t, and neither does Detmer, or Owosekun. Rhys doesn’t hate you. Frye doesn’t.”

    “When I - if it happens again, and I hurt someone though? Because then they’ll hate me.”

Hugh mirrors Paul’s earlier pose, leaning across the table and gently trapping his wrist between his fingers - and he can feel Paul’s pulse under his skin, his warmth, bone and muscle and soft, soft, soft skin, feels Paul’s tensed fingers curl open again, trusting, maybe.

    “Tilly will make sure it doesn’t happen. Whatever it is, she’ll fix it. Look, she’s as smart as they come. You can’t do much better than her.”

Paul turns his hand up and lets Hugh brush his thumb over the ball of his thumb.

    “Thank you,” he whispers.

    “I know you’re scared,” Hugh says, not daring to look up from where his thumb is rubbing circles into the pale skin. “But it’s going to be fine. We’ll be careful not to talk about the trigger words, and Tilly will figure something out.” 

Paul’s fingers curl almost-closed around Hugh’s, just a ghost of touch. Hugh’s other hand is pressed against the side of his contralateral thorax, going sweaty with the tension between them.

    “How do you manage not to be afraid?” Paul asks, almost-suddenly, except his voice is still low and private, like his world begins and ends with Hugh, and if that isn’t a nice thought. “Yesterday was the first time I’ve actually seen you… you know, scared. I didn’t think - I didn’t know you felt like that, too.”

Hugh chuckles. “I’ve been afraid lots of times. It’s just… um, it helps to pretend. Because this isn’t the kind of afraid where you can really do much about it. You know, if you’re afraid of spiders you can either actively seek them out to ‘cure’ yourself, or you can actively avoid them. But with this… like with so many things in life, there isn’t much you can do to better your odds, you know? If the person who interviews you for your new job doesn’t like the way you express yourself, or the company you worked with before, then you might not get the job. If someone loses control of their vehicle, they’ll cause an accident which will cause a traffic jam which will make you late for your appointment. If there was a drought somewhere, suddenly the store might not have your favorite type of apple. It’s all - there are so many variables, all the time, and it’s the same with this war, you know? If you even start thinking about all the things that might happen, you’ll go insane. Or give yourself anxiety.”

     “But how do you not think about it all the time?”

     “Citalopram,” Hugh says. “I’ve been taking it since I was… uh. Can’t remember. Seventeen, maybe? It’s an antidepressant, technically, but for me, I’m lucky and it works as an anti-anxiety med.”

    “Oh.”

Oh no, Paul is downright  _ adorable _ when he’s baffled. Hugh really wants to squeeze his cheeks.

    “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to -”

    “Hey, don’t worry about it.” Hugh squeezes Paul’s wrist a little. “You didn’t offend me or anything. It’s just - I know how you feel. Really, I do, because anxiety fucks you up, and you are in an unprecedented situation after all, and it must still be a shock for you. It’s - I hope you won’t have to get used to it.”

Oh, and yeah, Paul is also still super cute when he’s angry. Hugh really likes the way he frowns. 

    “What’s that supposed to mean?”

What’s not cute is how for just a second, his hand twitches like he wants to withdraw it from Hugh’s grasp.

    “I don’t want you to have to be a part of this war for so long that you get used to it. I want it to be over. Because - whatever happens afterwards, it’s better than this.”

Paul relaxes again. Hugh keeps rubbing gentle circles into his wrist.

    “I don’t know about that. I’ll go back to storage, I assume. At least out here I can… you know. Talk to people. _ Be _ . See things. Experience things. Have things happen, you know? So in a way, this is preferable.”

    “And you’re sure you can’t get out?”

    “Even if they don’t think I’m a murderer anymore - I’m a robot, Hugh. I’m not - I’m not a citizen, or even anywhere near that. I don’t have rights. This whole war is infinitely preferable.”

    “What if someone would buy you?”

    “Well, first of all, I’d be offended.”

    “Of course.”

    “And then I’d be offended some more.”

    “But you’d be outside again.”

Paul scoffs. “Don’t make it sound like such a novelty. It shouldn’t be.”

    “I know.”

    “Even though overall it sounds like the better way. At least being outside.”

    “I can see how you prefer the war,” Hugh says. “Still, it’s not - there’s more to life. Maybe - I don’t know, maybe you’ll get to see it one day. I hope you will.”

I hope I’ll get to show you. I hope I’ll get to buy you breakfast and lunch and dinner and go to museums and coffee shops and ice skating in winter and to the beach in summer and I want to wake up next to you and buy you roses and take ugly selfies and cry about a TV series at 3am with you. I want to steal your shirt and I want to doodle your name absently and tickle you while kissing you. 

And maybe that’s the war-weariness talking, or maybe Hugh really is head over heels already, or maybe it’s both, but he’d like for Paul to stay the permanent fixture he’s become.

Or, to quote what his oldest sister would probably say, “Hugh, that’s gay.”

Yes. Yes, it really is.

Paul smiles at him a little bemusedly. “Hugh, are you okay? You went really quiet there for a moment.”

    “I’m fine.” Hugh allows himself to smile at Paul. “It’s - it’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

    “Right.”

The ensuing silence doesn’t feel bad. Hugh tries not to lose himself in thought too much, but his mind keeps returning to Paul. The faces he pulls. His voice. His earnestness. His pulse under Hugh’s thumb, the feeling obstructed enough by Hugh feeling his own pulse in his thumb, too, but not too much to not feel Paul’s as well.

And ideally, he’d feel that same pulse under his lips, having them pressed against Paul’s neck, smelling him, holding him.

He really needs to stop pining this much.

    “Hey, you think I’d be allowed to go for my run now?” he asks, trying not to map Paul’s face, the pink of his lips and the angle of his jaw.

Paul puffs out a put-upon sigh. “If you absolutely must.”

    “You could accompany me.”

    “I could.”

    “Obviously you don’t have to, but... I’d appreciate the company.”

There are loud voices outside, the camp having woken up and going to get their breakfast.

    “And,” Hugh adds, trying to keep the smile out of his voice. “I do need to be protected, after all. Against the evils of the universe.”

  
  


Paul does protect him, even if it only means running alongside Hugh and being rather quiet, but he does hand him a bottle of water afterwards, so Hugh feels very protected after all.

A quick shower later and he’s running through his medbay again, switching regen machines while Paul is charting vital signs.

They distribute meds, and the assigned soldiers pop in with breakfast for the injured.

So, overall, things are good.

Hugh tries to keep telling himself that when he’s taking stock again, which he always has to after he treated anyone. And sure, it’s nice to take stock, because Paul helps him, and in the small quarters of what doubles as Hugh’s office and the main storage room, they’re bound to bump into each other. It might be a little pathetic that Hugh enjoys these little bumps and brushes of fingers this much, but it’s probably better if he doesn’t psychoanalyze himself too much.

    “Is this the last box of piritramid?” Paul asks, glaring a little as though the cardboard had personally offended him.

    “Well, are there any more boxes left?”

    “No.”

    “Well, that’s marvelous.”

    “What does it do?”

    “Huh?”

    “What does piritramid do?”

    “It’s basically a painkiller for when you need quick and strong pain relief.”

    “So it’s important.”

    “So it’s really important, yeah. Are you sure that’s the last box?”

    “Well, unless you have a second storage…”

    “I don’t.”

    “Well then.” Paul does a little shrug. “Then this is the last box.”

Hugh nods, trying not to notice the sudden weight settling around him.

    “Hugh?”

His name sounds like a breath on Paul’s lips. So soft, so gentle. 

    “I - it’s fine. We’ll make do.”

    “There are other painkillers.”

    “Right, there are.” Hugh turns back to counting through the hypo needles, trying to swallow down the panic. He can feel Paul’s eyes on his back though, probably wondering whether -

    “Your heart rate is rising.”

    “Yes, well.”

Paul’s hand curls around Hugh’s shoulder, squeezing gently, and Hugh tries to keep his hands steady, sorting through the needles.

    “It, um. It’ll all be fine.”

The words are awkward in Paul’s mouth, stiff and almost jumbled, but there’s a definite air of sincerity. And, badly buried underneath, fear.

That’s helping to make Hugh feel confident.

  
  
  


    “But of  _ course _ you have to tell Hugh! It’s not like a stubbed toe! It’s serious.”

Hugh watches how Tilly is dragging both Michael and Tyler across the yard. He stepped outside to get some air for a moment, and while that moment is obviously not going to last long, he wouldn’t miss watching this for anything. Tilly really is like a little sister.

    “We need to talk,” she declares. “Michael and Ash don’t think we do, but we do, because shit is going down.”

  
  


They settle down in Hugh’s bedroom, because that’s the best place they have where they can be somewhat hidden but also close enough to the medbay that Hugh can get up and take care of his patients if he needs.

Michael plonks down onto the bed gratefully, and Tilly gives Tyler a definite push before sitting down between them. Hugh unceremoniously shoves his worn clothes from the one chair and pushes the other one towards Paul, and they form a little circle.

    “So.” Tilly bounces a little. “Do you guys want to tell Doctor Culber here what you saw?”

    “Well, I told you about the skeletons we saw,” Michael begins immediately. “Absolutely massive creatures, and quite clearly either huge snakes, or some kind of fish.”

    “Yeah, I think you did.”

    “Well, there were a lot of them. And then… Doctor Culber. Hugh. You and I both know that Lieutenant Tyler and I are not exactly completely sane. That’s a fact. But wouldn’t it be logical to assume that with different traumas, even if both of you were to hallucinate, you would hallucinate different things?”

    “Yes,” Hugh says.

    “But we both saw the same thing. It was like… like an insect.”

The words hang in the air and Hugh isn’t too sure what to say to  _ that _ .

    “And it had glowing eyes,” Tyler adds.

Oh. Well that’s… good.

    “You both saw an insect with glowing eyes?”

    “Yes. But - it wasn’t really there. It was a hallucination. And not like the ones I have of Pippa, more - well, different.”

    “Different how?”

    “It was like it was behind a veil,” Tyler says. “And… it wasn’t clear, it was very vague.”

    “But it talked to us!”

    “An insect with glowing eyes talked to you from behind a veil. Alright. What did it say?”

    “Well.”

Tyler and Michael look at each other.

Then Tyler speaks: “It said we mustn’t go near the gun. That if we did, Sunbeam wouldn’t, um, well, that if we went near it, we would complete Sunbeam’s mission. And that we can’t do that.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Hugh sees Paul go rigid. This is going to go well.

     “Oh, we shouldn’t, um, mention that. The s-company. S-missions. Whatever,” Tilly says. “Um, 19 here doesn’t like it.”

     “His name is Paul,” Hugh says absent-mindedly. “But let’s get back to that message. What gun were they talking about? Was it somewhere in that monolith?”

    “Right, the monolith.” Tyler tugs at the bandage around his wrist. “That’s what happened afterwards. We got that message, and then we saw the monolith for the first time.”

     “And of course we went near it,” Michael says. “That’s when our equipment started acting up. It got increasingly difficult to send the blips, our handheld scanner kept flashing even though there was nothing new to scan -”

    “- our handguns went offline, then online again, switching modes,” Tyler supplements.

    “And then we saw that - the thing.” Michael obviously steels herself. “It was like… oh, god, it was horrible.”

    “It  _ smelled  _ horrible. You’d think your decomposing cellmate in a Klingon prison smells bad, but that thing…”

    “It was like - again kind of like an insect, but with knives as front… feet, or whatever insects have, about two times the size of a human -”

    “And then with the end of an octopus.”

    “And it was decomposing.” Michael shudders softly. “It was decomposing, but it was still alive. Or - not really alive, that was the horrible thing. It was dragging itself along the floor with the front legs that were also knife-like, and it made all these mechanical sounds, but you could see inside of it in some places, and it was - I don’t know, like a robot, all electronics and mechanics.”

    “And there was moss and lichen growing on it, like it had been there for a long time. And it was this weird purple-blueish color.”

    “That’s disgusting!” Tilly says. “What was it?!”

Tyler is pulling an equally disgusted face. “We don’t know. But… I don’t think it was an animal.”

    “What about the scanner? Were you able to scan it?” Hugh is mostly thinking out loud here, because as far as animals or alien animals goes, he is most definitely not your guy.

    “We did. The scanner, um, called it a ‘Self-Warping Quarantine Enforcement Unit’,” Tyler says. “But whatever it was, I don’t think it was functioning properly anymore.”

Michael nods. “Its movements were erratic, but like broken machinery. It was just  _ so  _ creepy.”

    “So we chose to strategically retreat, and, um, that’s how we saw the monolith again, and we decided to go there. It was high up on a mountain, but there was a pathway up there that wound its way up there. The monolith was right at the cliff’s edge , and there were several smaller structures hanging off of it.”

    “We went up as far as we could, and there was sand there, like it used to be a beach. And that’s where we found the, uh, well.” Michael makes an odd sound. “The purple tablet. Which we used to disable the force field, and that’s how we were able to go into the monolith.”

     “The… purple tablet?” Hugh asks. “So, just to reiterate - you have a joint hallucination of an insect with glowing eyes from behind a veil, telling you about a gun and the - the s-company, then you see a sort of organic mecha thing that’s part octopus and part insect, with knives for feet, dragging itself across the forest floor, and  _ then  _ you walked up a mountain to a green glowing monolith, which had a force field that you disabled using a purple tablet. Does that sound about right?”

    “And then I saw Pippa again,” Michael says quietly.

Tilly reaches out to hold her hand.

    “She beckoned me into the monolith. Tyler said no, that he felt like it was a trap, but I didn’t listen.”

    “And what was inside the monolith?” Hugh leans forward. He’s got an idea what might be happening here - if there really were Klingons hiding inside that monolith, Michael might actually have had a hallucinogenic device implanted by the Klingons, which might explain her joint hallucination with Tyler, and of course the Klingons would do that to every soldier they ever laid hands on, because sabotaging them from the inside by either driving their soldiers mad or slowly taking over their minds could only work well for the Klingons, and -

    “Nothing,” Michael says. “Well, there were data terminals, but we couldn’t access them, and there were a few, uh, objects of some sort, but there was absolutely nothing alive in there. And then Tyler got me out and we decided to get away as quick as possible. We ran into Klingons later and were able to get one of their carts to get away from them, but ended up leading them to the camp, I’m afraid.”

    “Nothing?” Tilly repeats. “How can there have been nothing? What about the claw? In - Ash, in the last video you sent, there was someone behind you.”

    “That was Michael, just rounding the corner.”

    “Oh.”

So that’s good news then. Maybe there really isn’t that much to worry about on this planet, except for Klingons, weird mecha zombie octopus-insect hybrids and big alien structures. Hugh  kind of wants to leave it at that and call it a day.

    “We have to go to the monolith,” Paul says. “It’s the Quarantine Enforcement Platform. We have to go there.”

    “Excuse me?”

Michael isn’t amused.

    “I am  _ not  _ going back there.”

Neither is Tyler.

    “Hugh.” Paul turns to look at him, eyes oddly intense. “We have to go there. Do you understand? It’s important.”

    “Why?”

    “We have to. I know we do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i thought i'd add some pictures for those who are interested :D so [this](http://subnautica.wikia.com/wiki/Warper?file=Subnautica-Warper.png) is what the creature michael and ash discovered looks like (well, except they found a quite derelict version of it :D)  
> and [this](http://subnautica.wikia.com/wiki/Quarantine_Enforcement_Platform?file=GunInfoboxPic.png) is what the monolith looks like, except it's taken from the subnautica wikia, so there's water around it, so you don't see everything; [here](https://www.artstation.com/artwork/E44XK) you can see (almost) the whole structure, except in a different position (yeah turns out that thing can MOVE :D)
> 
> they're all from the subnautica game, which is just... really fucking cool and is being a bigger and bigger influence on this fic :D


	12. XII.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello hi i'm back! sorry for the long delay... i really meant to update last week but i had absolutely NO inspiration.  
> this chapter has Some Things. still some soft stuff, some filler, some plot / backstory reveal... almost like i'm gearing up for something... ;)
> 
> hugh also has a chat with michael that details quite a bit about her mental state in general, so skip that whole bit if you'd rather not have talk about hallucinations and assorted things; if you do read that part but would rather not read the graphic description of georgiou's death, skip michael's little speech after hugh asks "she died before she could?", all the way to hugh then asking "what about the device?"
> 
> also don't worry about any culmets action happening... paul is an idiot and hugh is in denial that he has any chance :)
> 
> enjoy!

    “Okay,” Hugh tries again. “What is the reason for you wanting to go to that building? Have you seen it before?”

    “No. But - we have to. I can’t explain it.”

    “Yeah, I can see that.”

    “You called it something,” Tilly says. “So you have to know it. Why didn’t you tell us Michael and Tyler were going to find it? Why didn’t you say something when we watched the transmissions?”

Paul is slumping, looking down on his hands, practically exuding misery and confusion.

    “I don’t know, Tilly, I don’t know anything, but - there is - it’s like a… like a pressure, maybe? That’s how I know I need to go there. There’s nothing I can do, don’t you see? It’s - something is making me. It feels like - whenever you mentioned Sunbeam, it had that same kind of pressure, only… bigger, and it’s making me do things. Like attacking you, but also - I don’t think -” He looks at her imploringly. “If we keep talking about it, and I keep thinking about it, I don’t think I’ll be able to control my actions. I think I’ll run away and go to the Q.E.P. on my own.”

    “Why do you call it that?” Michael asks, angling herself a little, almost to physically shield Tilly from Paul.

Hugh suppresses a wince. Hopefully Paul doesn’t notice that, because it’ll surely tank his self esteem.

    “Because it’s the platform that enforces the quarantine.”

    “What quarantine?” Hugh wants to know. “There’s no quarantine enforced on this planet… especially not since the war. We may have a hard time getting soldiers here, but we never enforced any kind of quarantine.”

Paul shakes his head. “Not you. The precursors.”

    “Riiight. Tilly, did you ever get through all his protocols? Especially the broken ones?”

    “Hugh, I am not making this up!” Paul snaps. “I don’t know how I know these things, but I do know them, and they are real. I just need to - there’s a key, somewhere, and I just need to find it.”

They all stare.

    “Not a physical key. I meant a mental key. Something to unlock my knowledge. The missing piece to the puzzle.”

Tyler is rubbing his temples. Hugh decides to keep a wary eye on him, just in case it’s all too much for him.

    “I mean… if I could access your memory storage…” Tilly starts. “I could - maybe - see whether there are any blocked memories, and whether I could unblock them.”

    “I would prefer if you didn’t.” Paul’s voice is icy.

    “Hey. I’m just trying to help.”

    “Sorry if I’d prefer to keep my memories to myself. It’s a bit private.”

    “How are we supposed to help you if you -”

    “I don’t want anyone messing around in my head, thanks!” Paul snaps.

Tilly doesn’t flinch. Actually, Tilly looks a lot more angry than Hugh has ever seen her.

    “Listen, you’ve been doing this the entire time. You snap at people, you fearmonger with some kind of half knowledge, and then you start with some kind of unreasonable demands even though you can see that Michael and Ash are terrified of that place! And you can’t make us go there if you can’t even tell us why you want to go there! We - we have no idea what that place is, but it did something to them. And now they’re scared and terrified and they’re not easily scared, so whatever it is, it must be a really bad place, and then there’s that creepy mecha octopus insect around there, and those visions - you can’t make us go there! At least tell us why!”

There’s quiet after Tilly’s outburst, and Paul slumps some more.

    "Paul, you need to stay here," Hugh says softly. "Lorca won't let you go, and... you're not a fighter. That place is dangerous."

    "What if it could end the war?"

Those blue eyes turned on Hugh are seriously unfair.

    "We don't know that. And... Paul, I need you here. I know you're not here to be my nurse, and I know you don't even want to be here, but I need you. We all do."

    "But if it would end the war -"

    "You don't know that. Please. Stay."

    "And what if I have no control again? I already hurt you once, and -"

From the corners of his eyes Hugh can see Tilly's eyes go wide. Right. She hadn't known that.

    "- what if I hurt you again because I can't control it? You're no good when you're dead."

    "I'm also no good when I'm going with you to check out some alien building. The squadron needs me, and by extension they need you. Please."

    "When the war is over... will you come with me then?"

Yeah, his eyes are way too blue, and how can Hugh say now that he doubts they'll see the end of the war?

    "Okay, yeah, I will."

  
  
  


And that's that and Paul doesn't mention the monolith for the rest of the day while they tend to the injured.

He doesn't bring it up when Hugh gets ready for bed, either, which Hugh is very grateful for, because his whole body is aching and he needs a few hours of really deep unconsciousness.

  
  
  


Of course he doesn't get them.

There's a beeping he knows too well dragging him out of the void of dreamless sleep, like he's being dragged through mud, slowly and resisting. Someone needs help. And he's the only one able to help.

    "Shh-sh-shh," someone whispers, warm hand at Hugh's shoulder, pressing him into the bed a little, back into sleep, and no, no, that's not right, he's got to - there's something he needs to do - that beeping, it means something, he has to do something, but what, and the bed is warm and sleep is dark and welcoming .

    "I'll go."

Hugh falls asleep again. It feels good.

  
  
  


When he was in uni and suddenly wasn't woken up by his mom every day, he started using his phone alarm to wake him in the morning, and, since he wanted to listen to something nice every morning, put in his favorite song. He ended up hating that one, and every other favorite song he tried, until he started cycling through the pre-installed phone alarm sounds.

Nothing of that compares to the utter hatred he feels towards this alarm that has woken him every day for the past... well, how long has the war been going on? A century? It sure feels like that, and Hugh can feel every day in his bones.

The bed dips and for a moment he feels like his mom is going to wake him with gentle words and strokes over his cheek, and he's already half preparing a snappy remark because he doesn't like being touched in the morning, but then -

    "Hugh, would you like me to go on the first run? Vital signs and regen units? You could sleep in. There's nothing too complicated on the schedule, and I'll wake you otherwise."

Hugh tries to make a sound. He's got no idea what - Paul? is talking about, but he probably knows what he's doing. Lying on his stomach would be comfortable though, and the blanket crawls over his shoulders seemingly on its own. Leaves his feet cold, but makes him feel warm and snuggly otherwise. Feet are far away.

Bed dips up again and there's a door doing a sound and Hugh sleeps.

  
  
  


There's the most beautiful golden sunlight streaming through the windows, making the dust spinning in the air visible, and it almost manages to beautify the unpolished concrete floor and wall Hugh is staring at. He's feeling good. Hungry, maybe, but it's Sunday and that means his dad must be making breakfast, and he'll call when it's ready and Hugh really doesn't mind staying in bed a while longer for once. He'd had an awful dream about a war, but at least it had had a cute guy with blue eyes and light hair.

And the sun is really golden on the concrete.

The concrete.

Oh.

Fuck.

And the sun is up before he is.

Oh,  _ fuck _ .

Hugh shoves the blanket back so fast he gets tangled in it and almost falls to the floor, shaking hands tearing it off his legs while he's already fishing for his pants and a shirt and the jacket and boots half unfastened, morning taste in his mouth as he's already towards the door and through it and he collides with a human, knocking them over onto the actually rather cold concrete, and his teeth hurt the insides of his lips as they knock against the other person's.

Paul's lips are soft and his eyes are closed and Hugh tastes blood.

The concrete is cold.

Paul is very warm. His thigh is leaning against Hugh's.

He breathes very softly and opens his eyes. They're very blue. His lips are very soft. And he smells good.

Hugh is going to  _ die _ .

He gets up slowly, first on all fours, squats, stands up, holds a hand out to Paul to pull himself up while his mouth tastes of iron and ash and he looks anywhere else.

    "Sorry," he croaks.

    "Are you okay, Hugh? Did I hurt you?"

He licks his lips without meaning to.

    "You're hurt!" Paul exclaims, reaching up a thumb to touch to Hugh's lips. "I am so sorry, I didn't mean to -"

    "I'm fine."

    "I was just coming to wake you, but... you are already awake. I just thought - you should - so your circadian rhythm doesn't get too messed up."

    "I'm sorry for oversleeping."

Talking feels weird with Paul's thumb still on Hugh's lower lip. It does a gentle stroke and then Paul lets the hand fall. Something is shaking in Hugh's gut.

    "Oh, you didn't oversleep! I let you sleep in."

He did? Hugh barely remembers a conversation they might have had, where he was half asleep still.

    "Everything is fine, so you really don't need to worry. I just wanted to come check on you. I hope you slept well."

    "Yeah. Yeah, I just - I woke up and didn't remember that you..." Hugh trails off, looking anywhere but at Paul.

    "It's fine. Would you like to get breakfast?"

Hugh would like to kiss him again.

    "Um..."

He needs to shower, and he needs to... wake up properly, and stop wishing he'd stayed on the floor, kissed Paul again, properly, maybe with tongue, felt him relax into him and moan softly and kiss him back.

    "What time is it?" he manages eventually.

    "Five minutes to one."

Fuck. Oh, god.

    "Captain Lorca doesn't know I let you sleep, by the way. So you could shower, if you want to, and I could see whether there's still breakfast available, and then I'll run you through what I did."

    "Right."

And because Hugh is the biggest asshole in the whole universe, and because he can't look at Paul, he turns on his heels and walks back into his room and heads for the shower.

  
  
  


Which, in retrospect, didn't help at all, because Paul got him lunch and is sitting on his desk fiddling with something, humming to himself and smiling ever-so-slightly, and Hugh wants to stand between his legs and lose himself in kisses.

    "They didn't have breakfast anymore," Paul says apologetically.

    "Uh, that's fine."

Paul doesn't move away when Hugh sits down, instead still twirling the stylus in his hand.

    "I've been thinking," he begins, and oh no, here it comes. "You're right about not going to the monolith. Maybe I'm just imagining it all. And there  _ will _ be plenty of time once the war is over. I keep thinking, hoping that my creator built me for something special, but maybe that's just something she told me to... you know, to justify my existence to me, and to herself. Because children are born because the parents love each other, and because they want to procreate, but robots... we aren't. And most of them - most of us are built for a task, you know? Something to do, construction or nursing or teaching. But I wasn't. I think - I think she only built me because she was lonely. So maybe that's my purpose, to be a companion. But it's... it's still different. I did a lot of reading last night, on mental illnesses - I hope you don't mind that I borrowed your PADDs - and I think I might be projecting. That I want to have a set purpose so badly that I start imagining things. So I guess I'm sorry for - for everything. I didn't mean to put that kind of pressure on you, and I'm grateful you still took the time to talk to me and... and thank you for telling me I'm needed here. It's a very nice feeling."

Wow. Well that was not what Hugh had been expecting.

    "It's true, he says softly. "I need you. A lot. I don't know whether I could do all this without you. And... I guess we all have to find our own purpose, but we also have to make it. You're a companion, yes, but you're also - you're saving lives here, Paul. There's nothing more special than that. So thank you for staying, I guess."

    "I'm also sorry for running into you earlier. Are you sure you're okay?"

Hugh laughs.

    "Yes. Yes, I fixed myself up. It was just a split lip after all."

And a kiss.

    "Sorry for kissing you," Hugh says before he can stop himself.

Paul chuckles.

    "It was an accident. Doesn't that mean that it doesn't mean anything?"

Oh. Ouch.

But Hugh laughs and says, "right!" and digs into his food and Paul starts detailing the patients' treatments. Mostly just switching regen units, distributing meds, taking vital signs, definitely things he can do.

  
  
  


Hugh does his own round while Paul enters the vital signs into each patient's file, and there are quite a few compliments Hugh is asked to pass on to Paul. It makes him smile. Paul really did come a long way.

When he returns to his office to do some more fun paperwork, he spots Michael leaning against the doorjamb.

    "I need to talk to you," she says quietly. "Alone."

    "My room," he offers. "Paul, are you going to be okay for a moment?"

Paul only nods, focused on what he's doing, so Hugh leads Michael up the stairs and helps her sit on his bed, then gets a chair for himself.

    "Tell me about it."

    "I told you how I saw Pippa again, several times, right? Well, they're - the visions - hallucinations, if you want - they're getting... stronger."

    "Okay?"

    "Like she's, I don't know, like she's becoming more substantial. At first, when they started, they... there wasn't much to it. She was very faint, totally translucent. And now.. sometimes she looks like she's almost - like I could almost touch her." Michael twists her fingers and stares on the floor.

    "It scares you," Hugh says gently.

    "It does. Because... if she's getting stronger, then I'm getting weaker, right? My mind, I mean."

    "Michael, you're very traumatized."

    "I know, but shouldn't it - shouldn't I be getting better?"

    "With proper care, a proper psychiatrist, proper drugs, yes, you would get a bit better. But under these circumstances, and considering the stress you're under, it's not your fault you're not getting better. I understand you're afraid. It's perfectly natural."

    "What can I do?"

    "What would make you feel better? Sometimes things need out, sometimes they need time. What do you need?"

Michael twists her fingers harder, obviously in pain.

    "I need to talk about it," she says suddenly, looking up at Hugh. "I need to - I think - I just - I never - hah, sorry. I never told anyone what really happened. Or...  not all of it."

    "If you need to tell someone, I'll listen."

    "She... she had this, this thing, a little trinket, I think, from a past lover. Some kind of technology that she'd use sometimes, but it didn't - I don't think it did anything. She'd press it to her neck, the side of her neck, like this -" Michael demonstrates, pressing her hand against her neck so her fingertips are under the angle of her jaw. "It glowed blue, that's all I know, and that it was manufactured by IRGR. I picked it up once and saw the label. She always told me that one day, she'd tell me what it was. But..."

    "She died before she could?"

    "Yes. And then... when we were on that cart and she was dying, she had that thing again, and I thought she would... she'd want me to have it or something, to remember her by, but the she - she opened it? And she took something out, like a little chip card, and she swallowed it, and then she told me I'd have to kill her, that I needed to promise her to kill her, but before that she wanted my help to take a new chip card, which was hidden in her dog tags. She... she put it in, and..." Michael trails off again, staring at the floor, shaking her head a little. "And then she made me promise again that I'd kill her, made me take out my knife and put it at her throat, and... and before she asked me to do it, she put the thing to the - not quite the back of her neck, but right behind her ear, and she flinched and her eyes rolled upwards and she was shaking and she didn't - she didn't go limp or anything, but... she was different."

    "Different how?"

    "When I grew up... I - my adoptive grandmother died of, well, of old age and all that, but before she died we used to visit her in the hospice on occasion. She had late stage dementia and she wouldn't even recognize us anymore. She could barely move or do more than blink and breathe. Her eyes were empty and all that. And..."

    "Pippa looked the same?"

    "Yeah," Michael whispers. "Like she just wasn't there anymore."

She chokes on an almost-sob. 

    "She was just... gone. There was a body, but I felt like there was no mind there anymore."

    "And then?"

    "Then I killed her. Right through the bottom of her head, with a knife long enough to reach her brainstem, so she really was dead." Michael sobs again, immediately pressing her hands to her mouth to choke any further sounds.

Hugh vacates the chair to sit next to her and wrap an arm around her. She leans against him willingly, frizzy hair tickling his chin a little.

    "What about the device?" he asks gently.

    "I thought - I don't know, it's so stupid. But I remembered the first syn-soul experiments, where they'd try to preserve a person's consciousness to learn what electromagnetic patterns would make a soul, before those experiments got banned. I thought..."

    "You thought she might still be there, somehow saved in that device."

    "Yeah." She turns to look at him again, eyes swimming with tears. "Does that make me crazy?"

    "Michael, you loved her. If that's crazy, I'd hate to think what would be normal."

    "But she can't really be there, can she? Her entire consciousness preserved in some kind of... some kind of little chipcard reader. Isn't that too sci-fi?"

    "Maybe? But those experiments, the first ones, they were years ago. Who knows what they found out, the possibilities that are there."

Michael leans back into him.

    "So you think she might still be around in that thing?"

    "Do you still have it?"

    "Yes. I - I take it with me, all the time. I think the battery might be dead though."

    "What did you do with it afterwards?"

    "I never showed it to anyone. I just, I kept it secret. Tilly knows, but she doesn't - she doesn't know the full story. Makes me a bad girlfriend, I guess, but I didn't want to - she wouldn't have liked that story."

    "You didn't want to burden her."

    "No, I didn't."

Hugh nods. Of course she didn't. Michael may have a hard shell, but she's a big ol' softie, and she knows Tilly is too empathic to shoulder that as well, especially since she's already a huge support for Michael.

    "Did you ever use it?" he asks.

    "Well, heh, to use it I'd have to know how it works, don't I? So... no."

    "Did you use it the way Georgiou used it?"

    "You mean whether I ever did the - the neck pressing?"

    "Yeah."

    "I -" Michael plays with the crutches leaning against the bed. "Yes. Yes, I did. Don't tell anyone, but... when they put me in the cell, for the hearing, I did. I had kept it hidden in my bra, and since they couldn't - well, they can't strip prisoners or anything, so I managed to keep it secret. And... when I was in that cell... there was nobody else there, and it was dark, and I just - I missed Pippa so much, Hugh. She'd been such a great mentor, and such a great person, and - and - oh, god. She - look, please don't tell anyone, because - ah."

She falls silent, occasionally almost starting to say something again, but never following through. 

Hugh waits.

    "She was my friend and my mentor, but she was more than that, too," she says finally.

    "Your lover."

    "Yes," Michael breathes, hands coming up to press against her lips again. "Yes, yes she was, and I - Hugh. I k- I - I - oh god, I -"

    "You saved her a great deal of pain, Michael. And - that's not a big help, I know, but try to focus on that. You didn't force her to suffer."

    "I wish she was still here. She would know what to do. What that thing was. It's - all our lives are always so dominated by technology we don't understand. Sometimes I want to - I don't know what I want anymore, Hugh."

    "Want to go back to some seven years ago when the biggest threat was deciding what to do out of all the fun things you could do?"

    "Yes. I guess - I guess, yes. And marry Tilly."

That brings a smile back into her voice.

    "Can you tell me more about that device though?" he prompts gently. There are still quite a few open questions after all.

    "I held it to my neck like she did."

    "And what happened then?"

    "Um." Michael laughs. "It's going to sound ridiculous."

    "More ridiculous than visions of a glowing insect?"

    "Okay, yeah, good point. Um, I held it to my neck like she always did, and it... there was a shock, of sorts, and it hurt, and I passed out. When I woke up again everything was the same. Until a few hours later, when I saw her for the first time. Just out of my sight, and translucent, but she was there."

    "And ever since she's become more - she seems more tangible?"

    "Yes. So... there you go. I'm officially stark raving mad."

    "Maybe. I don't know about that. Michael, I'd like to do a couple brain scans if that's alright with you."

    "Why?"

    "That device did something to you, and it might just be that the hallucinations are connected to whatever it did. I'd like to find out more about that. If you're fine with that. It's your decision, of course."

She grimaces. "I guess you'd also like to look at the device?"

    "Only if you'd let me. Even though it might help more if Tilly could take a look at it. She knows a lot more than I do."

    "She's already worrying too much. About ninet- about Paul's protocols, and Lorca, and me, and Ash. I don't want to make her worry more."

    "Okay. That's okay."

    "I would be fine with brain scans though."

    "Alright."

She snuggles against him again, resting her head on his shoulder.

    "And how are you otherwise?"

    "Fine. Not too much pain, but not too much sleep either. I'll live. Don't worry about me."

    "Worrying is my job, Michael."

    "Worry about your Paul."

    "He's not my Paul."

    "Is he really unable to control himself on occasion?"

Hugh sighs and considers how to answer that. 

    "He had one lapse of control once, but... that may have had other reasons."

    "Right..."

There's a pause, and then:

    "Hugh, I don't trust him. At all. He's an android, and there's something really wrong with him. I know I said I didn't trust Tyler, but... I trust Paul even less. What is he? Why is he here? He's not a fighter, he was involved in the murder of his creator somehow, and now it turns out he's not always in control of his actions. He's a computer, Hugh. A robot. A  _ machine _ ."

    "He's much more than that."

    "You're in love with him." 

There's no accusation in her tone.

    "That doesn't have anything to do with -"

    "Yes, Hugh, it does. We make mistakes when we love people. And you're lonely. You're taking all our pain and our sorrow and all the deaths, and you - you carry that burden, every day. Everyone comes to you to talk to you about their issues - I do. Tilly does. Tyler does. I know Detmer does, Airiam does, Owosekun does, even Saru. I know Frye does, I know Paige does, I know DeMoners does, and I know you've got gentle words for all of them, and you offer all of them comfort, but what do you do when you need some yourself? Hugh... I can understand why you love him. Because he's the one... 'person' you'll never have to see hurt, who'll never depend on you like that. I understand that you want that, more than anything. But... please. You have to be careful."

    "Why? Because you can't lose me, Michael?"

He didn't mean to snap at her, but... well.

    "Because without me, you're all dead? Because I'm here so you can all go home? Don't you think I don't know that? I spend enough time inside my own head to know what's happening to me, Michael. But what do you want me to do?"

    "Be careful with Paul. There's something fishy going on there. He already admitted he hurt you once! If he's capable of that, he'll do it again, just to get his way. He's stronger than you in every way. If worst comes to worst, you don't stand a chance."

    "He's not going to hurt me, Michael!"

Hugh pulls back, glaring at her. 

    "He doesn't want to hurt people any more than you do. You've got no right -"

    "I'm just trying to look out for you! Listen, if Lorca got him to come here, then there's a connection there, and I doubt it's one you'll like. Just be careful."

Hugh wants to lash out. Say something that'll really hurt her, like how she hurt her lover, killed her, even, and how Paul sometimes seems more human than stoic, cold, occasionally aggressive Michael.

    "Let's get those scans done," he says instead, because he's supposed to be the caretaker, and he can't burden his patients with his worries and anger.

  
  
  


The program says it wants over a day of time to properly render the scans - no wonder with how little power Hugh is allowed to feed it - so he sends Michael on her way. Maybe a little more coldly than he intended to, but at the end of the day, he's only human.

Paul looks up curiously from how he's now sorting the vigos and mandrins by color. Another thing Hugh never got around to but always wanted to because getting the right one out of the box had always been a hassle.

    "Did you and Michael fight about something?" he asks.

How on  _ Earth _ did he manage to glean that from the few words Hugh and Michael exchanged?

    "Why?"

    "You were really short with her."

The plastic wrappers crinkle between Paul's fingers. He's oddly gentle with them. 

    "We... had a bit of a disagreement, but nothing bad. Don't worry about it."

    "I think she doesn't trust me."

Paul's eyes are open and warm and Hugh really can't see how Michael can't trust him.

Or maybe he's so far down the rabbit hole that he really can't see that Paul is untrustworthy anymore, and Michael is right, and one day he'll wake up to those same blue eyes looking down on him while there's one of those pale hands wrapped around his throat.

    "You're a good guy, Paul," he says instead. "Also thank you for... for holding the fort. For letting me sleep in and all that."

Paul smiles down on his hands. "You needed that. You look a little less stressed and tired now."

    "See, I always thought having darker skin would mean people won't notice dark circles under my eyes," Hugh jokes. "Doesn’t seem to work that way. Let me help you with that?"

  
  
  


So they sort all that stuff together, and then they get lunch, and do their rounds, and Hugh remembers to pass on the compliments he'd been given for Paul earlier. Later there are write-ups and Hugh keeps glancing at the scan renderer, which is still happily doing its thing, slower than molasses, and he shows Paul some of the documents they need on occasion, what to fill in, tells him about abbreviations and little tips and tricks, anything to keep talking to him and keep his mind off of what Michael said.

And the kiss.

Right. The kiss.

It had been really nice, if you disregard the fact that it had been completely without Paul's consent, and a lot less gentle, and it had probably been Paul's first kiss too.

    "Hugh? Manually taking blood pressure?"

    "What?"

    "You drifted off for a moment there." 

Paul is wearing that cute little smile again.

    "Maybe manually taking blood pressure isn't that exciting for you, probably, but I'd still like for you to show it to me."

    "Sorry, I was - thinking about something."

    "Want to share?"

    "No, it's... it's nothing. Don't worry about it. Um... anyways. Blood pressure cuff."

He shows Paul how to put it on, what to watch out for - "The wires go over my arm, so they have the same direction as the veins and arteries." - and Paul is very gentle, trying not to close the cuff too tight, which makes it slip down Hugh's arm.

They do it over and over a few times until Paul is confident he knows how to do it, just in case they'll ever be left without scanners. Also Paul's fingers feel nice on his exposed arm.

  
  
  


Paul promises he'll take care of anyone who pings Hugh during the night. Hugh makes him promise not to let him sleep in again.

And then he rolls up in bed, and that's when the memory of the kiss comes back. It had been so  _ nice _ . The way Paul didn't even - well, the way he didn't defend himself. If you put it like that, it sounds horrible.

Maybe he had wanted it too. Probably, right? He could kick Hugh's ass to the nearest moon if he wanted to. He can probably bench press a truck. As human as he might feel and look and... taste and smell... he's still an android. His bones are probably made from a metal alloy stronger than what most spaceships are made out of.

And he's warm and soft and might just like cuddles.

Hugh exhales heavily and turns on his other side again. 

    "Hugh? Are you okay?"

His voice also sounds oddly good in darkness as well. 

    "Paul?"

    "Yes?"

    "About... about what happened this morning."

    "The kiss?"

Ah. So maybe he was thinking about it too.

    "Yeah."

    "What about it?"

    "I - I really didn't mean to -"

    "It was an accident. I know."

    "Was it your first kiss?" Hugh blurts out.

There's silence. Then:

    "I guess. Why?"

    "Sorry."

    "What for?"

    "It's - your first kiss is supposed to be something special."

Paul snorts a little.

    "I don't really care. It's not - I mean, you're not going to - there's no... Hugh, I'm a robot. I may act like a human and look like a human but I'm not. All those things you have in your lives, all those milestones, I'll never reach most of them. So it also doesn't matter when I do reach one."

    "Paul... it does matter. It's your life. It's... you need to be the one calling the shots."

    "You seem to forget that the only time I'll be as free as you is while I'm here. After that... there's no happy ending for me, Hugh. So it doesn't matter."

    "When we get back, I'll do everything I can to get you to be free."

'I could buy you.' He doesn't say it, but... he could. He could buy Paul, let him live with him, let him do whatever he wanted, as long as Paul would be happy.

    "How much could they possibly pay you that you could buy me?"

So Paul saw through that.

    "I'm a doctor. I don't earn that little money."

Except he got drafted, so he doesn't earn any money for this, or for anything in the past seven months. Had it only been seven months? It seems so much longer.

    "I'm probably expensive. The only one of its kind, and assumed to be a murderer."

    "I'll do everything I can," Hugh repeats.

And he'd do even more just to kiss him again, but Paul doesn't need to know that.


	13. XIII.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello hi there and welcome back!
> 
> we hit this chapter right off with some nsfw-y stuff, so just skip the first paragraph if you're not too into that :p aaaand then there's a relatively graphic description of a panic attack right after hugh sends paul out of his office, soo skip the whole rest of that paragraph if you'd rather have none of that  
> also warning for some nice stuff potentially happening to hugh soon... well, soon-ish :D
> 
> happy easter to those of you who celebrate, and happy bulk buy chocolate because it's reduced in price days to everyone else in advance :D

Paul let him sleep in again. Hugh wakes to sunlight on his face again, this time luckily not panicking, but yeah, that damn android let him sleep in again. 

The alarm clock blinks a happy 10:42 and this time not even Hugh's feet are cold.

He's actually comfortable, and woke up at a late but nice time, and most importantly on his own, with sunlight streaming through the room.

He snuggles back into the pillows and lets his eyes fall half close again. Maybe he can stay here for a while.

Maybe he'll run into Paul again when he leaves the room though. Maybe Paul will laugh and stop them from bumping together this time and they'll stand, too close but too far, smile awkwardly, until Paul kisses him, properly this time, lips soft and warm and he'd be solid against Hugh, warm against the cold concrete that he'd hold Hugh against.

And then Hugh could slip some tongue, and Paul would moan and hold him tighter, and eventually Paul would push him back into the room and give him a little shove so they'd stand apart, and then he'd come to kiss Hugh again and they'd end up on the bed, with Paul on Hugh's lap, and they'd hold each other really close and kiss more and 

Paul would slip his fingers under Hugh's shirt and they'd... do other things. Hugh would get to touch all that soft, warm, well-smelling skin and... and do so many lovely things to Paul.

He squeezes himself through his pants and feels the excitement course through him. He could touch himself. There's nothing stopping him, other than the possibility of Paul coming through the door, and while Hugh abhors even the concept of being caught... the possibilities would be endless. What if it's a milestone Paul decides he'll take with him, and he'll undress and slip under Hugh's blanket and kiss him again and replace his hand with his own? Would Paul even be... functional, in that sense?

It's something Hugh has wondered before, and he'll certainly wonder about it again until he's got closure.

The fabric of his pants is rough over the head of his dick, so he slips his hand inside, closes his eyes, conjures up a generic scenario, a nice room, maybe in a hotel, or maybe Hugh's old apartment, where the bed is big enough but they can still snuggle up nicely in fluffy blankets and a million pillows and a good mattress, and Paul would smile that cute little smile and feather his fingers under Hugh's shirt, bite his lips,  kiss him eventually. 

And later... if Hugh could make him scream...

There's a lot of friction going on, but... what if Paul were a screamer? Desperately trying to hide his face in a pillow to muffle his sounds, and Hugh would kiss and bite his neck to leave red spots and -

    "Hugh?"

Paul is peeking through the door and Hugh reluctantly takes his hand out of his pants.

    "Morning, Paul."

    "Hugh! You're awake!"

    "Yeah, and you let me sleep in again."

Paul looks a little sheepish.

    "You need your sleep, Hugh."

    "You promised," Hugh says, pushing himself up and running a hand over his face.

Paul shrugs. "I lied. But you do need your sleep. And there isn't too much to do today anyways."

  
  
  


There really isn't. They do their rounds and do the appropriate paperwork and Hugh doesn't think about kissing Paul all that much (okay, that's a lie), and they chat a lot, about all kinds of things. 

Paul is smiling a lot more, which is nice, and it's far too easy to imagine that there's something else as well. He's... very cute.

  
  
  


Hugh then spends a good deal of time daydreaming about Paul, while Paul decimates a few handfuls of nutri bars. He's obviously not enjoying himself, and the little faces of distaste he makes are so incredibly adorable Hugh almost doesn't feel bad there's nothing proper for Paul to eat.

    "When we're back on Earth, I promise I'll take you out for every kind of food," he says, trying to hide his smile at another little pout.

    "That doesn't help in the moment." Paul smiles as he says it though.

There's a crumb left in the corner of his mouth for a few moments until he licks it away. Hugh almost has to sit on his hands so he doesn't reach out and wipe it away.

Instead, he then gets a peek of pink tongue, and maybe that's what makes his heartbeat pick up for a while.

  
  
  


It's just moments before Hugh actually gets up and goes to bed that the computer finally tells him that Michael's scans are done rendering. Paul immediately zooms up to him and peeks over his shoulder. Hugh really hopes it's not just because Paul has never seen him do a brain scan, but also because of the wonderful closeness that comes with almost leaning against someone to look over their shoulder.

    "So why did you do a scan for Michael's brain? What are you worried about?"

Aw, hell. He can't really tell Paul that, can he? Not when Michael came to him both because he's a friend and because he's a doctor.

    "Doctor-patient confidentiality, Paul. I'm sorry, I can't tell you."

    "That didn't seem to apply to anyone else around here."

There's something almost cold in Paul's voice. Maybe because he remembered Michael's attitude towards him.

    "Everyone else around here has physical injuries. And for those, I need your help. But... Michael... what she told me, that's something else entirely, and I promised her I'd keep it to myself. Same as I'll keep everything you tell me to myself."

Paul swallows and lowers his head.

    "Sorry."

    "Which is why I'll also have to ask you to not look at the scans with me. I'll - if we get the time, I can scan my brain and show it to you, and explain what you can and can't see, but... not this, okay?"

    "Right. I'll just..." Paul waves a hand towards the door. "Be on my way."

Guilt churns in Hugh's stomach as Paul actually leaves. Maybe he should've handled that better. But the truth is... he can't tell Paul about what Michael told him. Because Michael confided in him, because of the oath Hugh took, but also because he knows he wouldn't be able to not tell Paul about Michael's distrust in him. And that would make Paul feel awful, which would turn him either snappish or sullen, and both those scenarios would lead to them fighting again.

And... things had been good the past week or two, if Hugh is honest. Sure, they're at war, everything is technically bad, but it seemed like they were building a little group of friends here.

It's probably selfish, he thinks as he sits down in front of the console. Hah, not just probably. But... if there's anything he wants more than maybe even a peaceful resolution to the war, it's someplace, some people where he feels like home. Like if he falls there will be a net catching him.

And maybe Michael was right. Well... scratch that. Of course Michael was right. He needs people to talk to as well, people who won't worry about his efficiency, or how well he'll be able to help them when they have a problem. He needs people he can talk to about his worries without having to worry they'll somehow take it the wrong way, or it'll impact them badly. Where they don't have to worry about receiving insufficient care. 

And Paul... Paul is the perfect candidate to maybe listen to Hugh's worries eventually. Of course Hugh doesn't want to groom him in that direction, but he's not ignorant enough to believe he's above needing someone, an outlet sometimes. And there's a lot Hugh would - that he just needs to get off his chest, if he's honest with himself.

Hugh groans and buries his face in his hands. Things had been getting a little better, and he'd finally gotten some more sleep, and things with Paul had been good, and now he's sitting here crashing and burning over the fact that -

Which fact, even? That he kind of kicked Paul out? That by protecting Michael and her worries and issues he was alienating Paul? That it felt like - like Paul was really walking away from him now, like Hugh had properly fucked up. And Michael was right, Michael was right, he needs Paul, and now Paul hates him, and they're probably back to the very beginning, where Paul hated his guts and would rather see him dead and where Paul would never smile.

And that would mean all the patients' care would be lacking as well, and then more people would die, and Hugh is responsible for them, and he'll have to face their families anyways, if they ever do get back, and they'll put him to court, if the Klingons don't get them first, with less soldiers to defend them.

Hugh's throat is closing up. This is bad, this is so bad, they're all going to die, because he pissed Paul off, and he can't just start being nice to Paul again because he won't want that. And there's no end to that, either, and how does he talk to Paul, explain himself, how does he make Michael understand that maybe Paul isn't evil, but what if she's right and they're all headed to their doom anyways, so there's nothing he can do about that anyways, except he'd hoped Paul would like him, which would at least have alleviated the situation somewhat, but now -

It's a panic attack.

Oh.

He's having a panic attack.

And wow, the level of detachment he's feeling with his body now, that's quite something, because his heart is being squeezed at all sides, and his hands are probably shaking, and they're going to  _ die _ in the next battle, because there is absolutely no way they can win this, not with -

And from somewhere a long time ago, his old therapist's voice floats up.  _ "Four-seven-eight, Hugh. In through your nose for four, hold for seven, exhale for eight. I'll count for you." _

One. Two. Three. Four.

And hold. For one, two, three, still feeling the pressure in his chest, six, seven, nervous energy thrumming and set on hold.

And out. The energy goes. Four, five, six, seven, eight.

Pressure in his chest still there, but maybe less.

Hugh closes his eyes. In. Hold. Out.

He folds his hands and leans his forehead against them. In. Hold. Out. Let the fizzling energy dissipate. Control it a little. Calming, somewhere in his center. In. Hold. Out. Breathe with the lower lungs, really filling them, slowly and cautious.

He can almost feel Sarah's gentle hand on his back, waiting for him to get back to her.

Oh god oh god oh god they're going to die they're going to die Paul hates him they're going to -

_ "Focus on your center, Hugh. Breathe. Let your shoulders fall. Release your hands. Breathe. Four-seven-eight. Relax a little. I know you can do it." _

He can indeed. Breathing. Breathing is the key. And remembering her hand on his back, the slightly scratchy couch, the little circles she'd rub into him when he would flip out during one of their sessions.

God, he misses her.

_ "And again. In for four... hold for seven... and now exhale for eight... you're doing great, Hugh." _

Is he though? 

He tries not to bite his lip too hard.

In. Hold. Out.

Widen your chest, find your center, relax shoulders and arms and hands and neck and hips and thighs and knees and calves and feet and toes and -

Just relax. 

Breathe.

Think of something else.

Concentrate, let your hands stop shaking, feel your body, your surroundings, and don't think of -

The inevitable, all their deaths, the pain of soldiers that Hugh can't save -  _ breathe _ \- screams and wounds and Paul's spiteful remarks and Klingons storming their camp and -  _ "Hugh, breathe." _ \- murdering and fire and flames and all because he failed, because he wasn't good enough and he -

He has to breathe. Calmly. In, hold, out. Relax. Focus on your center.

No big questions, no what ifs, just now. Sitting here now, breathing here now, being okay here now.

It works.

Of course it works, because Sarah has always been right about everything, and Hugh really should be meditating more, because that has always been good for him.

His hips relax first. Weird. 

Stretches his knees out a little, eyes still closed, feet bumping against the wall, shoulders falling, chest opening a little better, and he's allowed to breathe again, eventually untangling his fingers.

There's an undercurrent still thrumming in his veins, something still shaking and tight in his chest, but as long as he doesn't focus on that...

He was overreacting. Plain and simple. Things are good, things are better than they have been for a while. He's going to be fine.

He's overworked, then suddenly got enough sleep and a lot of relaxation, and naturally he's overreacting, hormones completely out of whack. He should take his meds and go to bed. Things are going to be better tomorrow, and he knows he won't be too useful after this panic attack, and nothing is pressing, so he should just take care of it tomorrow.

Yeah, good idea.

He pushes himself up from the desk with palms flat against the metal, feeling the tiniest bumps it got from being taken places, trails almost stable fingers over the back of his chair, feeling the smooth plastic, touches onto the rough cardboard of the boxes with the meds, seeking out his five surfaces to ground himself, crinkling plastic wrappers make five, and -

They're out of citalopram.

Which, right, Hugh had gone looking to fill up his pill dispenser sometime around the last battle, and he'd noticed they must be out, but... the box is completely empty. Admittedly, it had been a tiny box, but Hugh is the only one taking them, so they should've lasted longer. But they didn't. And the panic flares back up.

So, yeah, he hasn't been taking his meds for the last... two days? Three? The symptoms coming back now is to be expected.

And he'll have to go through the rest of the war without them, because if they even do get all their scheduled shipments, they'll be staples only, and that won't help him a bit.

He'll look again tomorrow. Tomorrow, things will be better. Right now, he's tired and he's not going to do a good job taking care of himself, and he'll only obsess over stuff that doesn't have to be a problem if approached correctly. And tomorrow, he can talk to Paul, apologize, make sure they're still good, explain himself if he needs to, and maybe ask him for help. Maybe Paul  _ will _ be able to help him.

  
  
  


Paul is already in Hugh's bedroom, sitting at the table and reading something. He doesn't look up when Hugh gets in, so Hugh tip-toes to the bathroom and hides out in the shower.

Considering how Paul is here, he probably will have to talk to him now instead of moving that to tomorrow. Except Hugh needs a bit of time to think about this, what to say and what to ask of Paul, what he can entrust him with and what he'd rather keep to himself, for now.

Also, he's still not quite over the novelty of a hot shower, so there's that, too.

  
  
  


When he gets out, the vita bracelet connecting unit is beeping, but Paul is already at the door.

    "Don't worry, I'll get this. You go ahead to bed," he says, and vanishes.

Which at least absolves Hugh of having to talk to him.

So by the time Paul comes back, Hugh is already dozing, and now he'll definitely pretend to be asleep. That's not hard, because he's still tired.

  
  
  


There’s no occasion to talk to Paul privately the next day. They're overrun with people with light colds, a few fevers here and there, nothing too bad but still bad enough that seemingly everyone shows up to pour out their troubles to Hugh, and while he tries to keep reminding people that it's just a cold or a fever and not a lost limb, it seems like they're all going to die any minute.

Paul is mostly doing the regen switch rounds and vital rounds because Hugh is auscultating every lung and doing every meter of emotional legwork he possibly can do.

    "Yes, it's just a cold, you'll be fine. Remember to drink plenty, dress warmly, don't work out, just take it a little slow today."

    "But my throat hurts! Can't you do anything?"

No, no, he can't, because it's not like he's got any cough drops or syrup or teas or some nice hot comfort food or a doting mother or partner hidden away in a jacket pocket.

And it's incredible, really, how many of these people he's seen with serious injuries, bleeding all over him after he rushed to their side when they walked into his sickbay still grinning, but give them a cold and they'll practically beg him to keep them here.

The ones who actually do have a mild fever are the worst, because obviously they'll try to use that to stay with him; probably also to get out of their various duties, but there's nothing Hugh can do other than temporarily free them from their work.

Lorca catches wind of that, of course, and the next thing Hugh knows is that the captain is kicking Paul out of the little office where Hugh and he had been having a very short coffee break, and leans against the doorjamb, glaring.

So after that dressing down, Hugh prescribes anti-inflammants. Against better judgement, against everything medschool and fifteen years of residency have taught him, but it's not like that counts for much, here.

Hugh grits his teeth against that, but the anger keeps the anxiety at bay, and it's not like he needed functioning enamel on his teeth anyways.

Unfortunately, that makes him more snappish than he'd like with his patients, who have technically done nothing wrong except that they're all trying to skirt duty. Of course they are, because they've been fighting long enough to make them all war weary, and the few really aggressive ones, the ones that are here for the fight, they wouldn't show up with anything less bad than a torn off limb.

He also gets to discharge those who were staying in the 'bay, and by late afternoon, it's only him and Paul and the ever-present sense of dread that'll probably follow Hugh around for a very long time still.

  
  


Paul knocks on the doorjamb and peeks though the frame. 

    "Hugh? Can I come in?"

    "Sure." Hugh pushes away from the desk and looks at him. "What's up?"

    "I brought you coffee." He holds up the mug and hands it over to Hugh. "And I want to talk."

    "Okay? Thanks."

Paul drags the second chair close and sits down, looking at Hugh with a little frown.

    "What's up?" Hugh asks.

    "Are you feeling okay?"

    "What? Why?"

    "You've been snappish. You've been paying less attention than usual to your patients, been less compassionate, spending less time with them. And your vitals are off too."

    "You don't know anything about my vitals. You're not my caretaker!"

It comes out worse than Hugh wants it too.

    "And you're trying to limit my emotional engagement with you by pushing me away, so you don't have to share your inner thoughts and feelings and make yourself vulnerable to what you fear might be a judging audience." Paul angles his head and regards Hugh out of slightly squinting eyes. "So?"

Well. Fuck. That was succinctly put.

    "My meds ran out two or three days ago," Hugh says softly. "I'd... love to say I'm not freaking out, but... uhh." He huffs a breath, trying to calm down and not give way to the panic already happening again. "It's not going well."

    "Oh."

    "Yeah, that's a way of putting it. Look, Paul, I can do this, but I can't when you constantly question me and hound me with -"

    "I'm not constantly questioning you. Hugh, I know you're under a lot of stress. Even more now. I want to help you, okay?"

    "I -"

    "You need someone to talk to, don't you? Because you let them all talk to you, too, and you listen to all their worries, and nobody listens to yours."

Hearing it said like that feels... bad. Worries. Like they're just little things bothering Hugh.

    "I -"

    "Let me listen, Hugh. Stop deflecting."

    "I'm not -"

    "Yes, you are. You're doing it now, pretending what I'm saying isn't true. You're breaking apart. Stop pretending to be fine, and  _ let me help _ . I'm not a doctor, I won't be able to prescribe you anything, and I may not find the right words. But I can listen."

And that's the most important thing. Hugh knows that, Hugh learned that in medschool, too, and Hugh knows that from experience. But actually sitting here and having to find the words is harder than expected.

    "I'm... scared," he says finally. "I'm - yeah, I'm scared."

Paul watches him, and Hugh knows he has to say more. Feels like there's something stopping him from talking, though, like he suddenly fell mute.

    "I'm scared I - I pissed you off when I kicked you out and didn't let you see Michael's scans. I can't - I don't want to - you're right, Lorca's right, I need you. Maybe not for protection, or... anything like that, but... someone who listens. Who isn't - you've got such a different way of looking at this war. I'm not saying you're not scared, but... that you - and that's horrible, but... that you feel free here, like... like this is, I don't know, maybe better for you than what you had before, that you're not - that there's nothing you miss and no family you're afraid for and who you miss, and you - you don't need that kind of... emotional help. I need that. I - I do. And I don't - I can't, hah, afford to lose that now, not when everything is already getting worse and worse every day, and you looked so pissed off, that I was kicking you out now, and I need your help in - around the place. I'm scared - I'm scared you hate me now. Or something."

    "I don't hate you."

    "But I kicked you out."

Paul shrugs. "Hugh... I - I understand why you, and Michael, wouldn't want anyone else to see that. That... I did my reading, once again, and that particular kind of scan, that's very private. I don't want anyone poking around in my memory either."

    "Oh."

Hugh's heart is suddenly lighter.

    "I just thought... you looked pissed off."

    "I like spending time with you, and I like watching you do things. And the past few days I've done more and more stuff on my own, as opposed to watching you. That's - not quite as ideal as I'd like it, and I had hoped to just... spend that evening with you."

    "Oh."

    "I didn't know it bothered you so much."

    "I like overanalyzing what people think of me."

    "I can see that."

Hugh takes a deep breath. Okay. So Paul actually likes spending time with him and he didn't piss him off. That's... that's huge. That's good.

    "Was that... I dont mean to - but was that all that was bothering you?" Paul sounds incredulous.

Hugh huffs a laugh.

    "No."

    "Oh, okay. Good, because if something that small would upset you that much, I wouldn't know how to feel about that. Or - wait, of course it's not good when you have more bothering you, but what I mean is - "

    "I know what you mean. And... yeah, there's more. Um... I - I'm afraid of having to deal with... all of this, the whole stress and all, without my meds. I've been taking them with barely any side effects for, uh, twenty years or so, barely ever missed a dose, and I'm scared of it. I'm scared of, well, being scared, I suppose. The panic attacks and all that."

    "Can you really not get the - whoever is responsible for sending supplies out here, can't you get them to send more?"

    "I... don't think Lorca would risk opening a high security channel to Command to request another set of supplies just to supply me with meds. He's not - look, I talked with him about that, that I need my meds and all that, way back when I joined the squad, and he thinks I 'need to get over it'. Which I tried the first two years of medschool, and... let me tell you, I didn't enjoy it. So... no."

    "Can you synthesize them?"

    "I failed my chem exam twice. I don't think so."

    "Okay, does anyone else have a better understanding of chemistry? Tilly?"

Hugh can't help but laugh. "No. No, definitely not. Especially not something as complex as an actual medicine. We might get some very crude acetylsalicyclic acid together if we really apply ourselves, but that's about it."

    "What about... coping methods? Um... breathing exercises?"

Paul is fast approaching out being of his depth, and as adorable as it is, Hugh just  _ wishes  _ Paul could actually help him.

    "Yeah. Maybe some grounding exercises. I might have to start meditating again. I  _ should _ start meditating again, but... it's kind of tedious. I never enjoyed it much. But... yeah, that's about it. If it gets really bad I suppose I can take some meds for high blood pressure, I think we still have some left. But that's it."

    "But it is a start." Paul smiles tentatively. "You can do some things. It's not ideal but... it's better than nothing."

    "Yeah... yeah, I suppose it is."

    "What else is there?"

    "I..." Hugh scuffs his boot across the floor. "I want to see my mom again, Paul. I've never gone so long without even calling her... I used to call her every week, and when I was still at school I'd visit often, and they'd visit me, and I never went this long without seeing the little ones, and now I'm scared I'll never see them again. She was scheduled to have surgery, and then the war started and I never heard from her again. Just... just a new knee, nothing too serious, but I'm still worried. And my sister was pregnant, my other sister was supposed to marry... sorry, you probably don't care. I just... miss my family."

    "You're really close with them, aren't you?"

    "Yeah... I love them, they're... they're all great people. My dad too, of course. He was always helping my oldest niece with her homework, you know, language and kids' sciences and all that."

Paul leans forward and takes Hugh's hand, resting his on Hugh's knee, so incredibly familiar and pleasant and close.

    "And they're probably very worried," Hugh adds softly, thoughts trailing off to his hand in Paul's. 

A gesture of comfort, nothing more.

    "Can you send them a message?"

    "Sure, if I can get past Detmer, Saru and Lorca and into the encrypted communications panel."

Paul gives a twisted little half shrug and a tiny smirk.

    "I might know how to get into the latter. And Detmer has a serious case of the flu. I'm sure you could convince Saru you need to get at the panel, or maybe he won't even be around. And... Lorca usually attends the post-patrol brief, doesn't he?"

    "You'd do that for me?"

    "Hugh... you said it yourself. I have nothing to lose. And... what is Lorca going to do? He needs you, and you need me."

    "Wow, I think I'm going to need to marry you."

Paul makes the cutest face of disgust and Hugh laughs.

    "No, um, seriously, thank you so much for that offer. I - I don't know, I... I don't know what to say. It's risky, but... I'd really like to. I just... as long as I know they're not worrying too much about me, I can - I think I can sleep a little better. Thank you."

    "Next post-patrol brief is in six hours. Do you want to...?"

    "Can we - can I be a dick and ask to do it tomorrow? Because... um, it's five pm, and -"

    "And you tossed and turned all night and slept really badly so you'd like to sleep as much as you can today," Paul supplements. "Of course."


	14. XIV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO THIS IS A CHAPTER WHEREIN LOTS OF THINGS HAPPENED which is why i can't stop myself and am publishing ahead of time. sorry :D
> 
> also, this is a........ pretty dark chapter tbh  
> so we've got pretty graphic surgery descriptions early on; landry will show up, bringing hugh a soldier of hers, and if you're not down for surgery, skip to the end of the paragraph  
> aaaand then shortly after that paul wakes hugh up, and if you'd rather not have to read about hugh killing someone and thinking dark thoughts, skip to the end of that paragraph
> 
> but other than that, this is a fun cool chapter of fun and coolness and no angst or anything at all. every. where has there ever been angst in sunrises? :)  
> enjoy!

Hugh spends another morning happily distributing advice against the common cold, advises a lieutenant about his so badly bruised elbow that, despite his assurances of it being really bad, Hugh is able to keep him clear for duty, which doesn't serve to make either of them feel better.

He sits down to finally take a look at Michael's scans during his third coffee, since that's how he's started measuring time. Paul is in the room too, but he's dutifully writing down the various meds Hugh prescribed for everyone who's little ouchies and coughs had to be treated by taking a sledgehammer to crack that particular nut. He also promised he wouldn't peek.

The station needs several minutes booting up and showing the scan, practically begging Hugh for more power so it can load faster several times, but he'd rather not get into a fight with Lorca about why he uses more than his allotted power, thanks.

The 3D scan renders, first pixelated but clearing up soon enough, various other values and diagrams popping up to all sides, a veritable jungle of information. Well, if nothing else he'll at least be able to attest that Michael does indeed have a brain and a personality.

And now to making sense out of all that.

He takes a sip of his coffee and leans closer to the screen. 

Of course they learned how to read these types of scans in school, and he'd had to read a few in his time as a resident doctor as well, so technically he knows what he's supposed to be looking for, what each individual graph means and so forth, but tacking a meaning for the specific patient on it, that's... difficult.

    "Culber," a woman's voice says and he looks up.

There's Landry looking through the door, a bit flushed and her mouth drawn in a hard line. 

Aww. Hugh hasn't had a run in with Lorca's other right hand in a while, and he'd liked that. Landry, as an expressed militarist, and Hugh, as an expressed pacifist, have never clicked. She thinks he's too lax on the injured, he thinks she's too harsh. He thinks the conflict with the Klingons should've been resolved with diplomacy, she is angry they're not throwing more people into the fight, teach the Klingons a lesson or two. Overall, the two of them being in the same room usually ends in a very aggressive standoff.

    "What is it?"

She jerks her head in a 'follow me' notion and vanishes again. Hugh sighs to himself. 

It's not like she couldn't at least ask him or something.

His back protests a little when he gets up, but it's been doing that for a while now, so he doesn't pay it more than a fleeting thought.

Especially not after he steps through the door and sees why Landry is here.

He doesn't even recognize the soldier's face because it's so mashed in, and several of the troop accompanying Landry look faintly green. But whoever it is, they're clearly still alive, breathing strainedly and twitching slightly, practically bathed in blood and not little dirt.

Hugh rushes to their side immediately, already checking for a pulse - it's good - and trying to get an idea of the injuries he's dealing with here.

    "What happened?"

Landry appears at his side, shrugging. "Accident."

    "Right. You're going to have to tell me more than that."

    "We were out scouting with some carts, and Collin went ahead, scouting even further than us, and we just heard noises of a fight, we came as fast as we could," one of the soldiers, DeMoniers, cuts in.

    "Who gave you permission to speak?"

Yeah, that's Landry. Upholding the most rigorous and idiotic standards even when they're months into a war that a lot of them will never see end. 

    "Well, at least he told me what happened," Hugh says. 

The damage is probably not too bad. Well, the damage to Collins' face is serious, but his face doesn't look bashed in so badly that his brain was injured badly.

At least that's what Hugh hopes.

    "Get Paul. I need the body scanner, an operating tent, the microbial PWS, isoflurane, a big set of pincers and scalpels, gauze, swabs, the cardiovascular set and a pair of scrubs. You, you, you, help me get him onto a cot. I'll take his shoulders, you'll take his legs and middle. Landry, tell Lorca I'll be preoccupied with this for the foreseeable future; hope nobody else gets injured badly, or they'll have to wait. I'll need two people with basic nursing training manning the place just in case, they'll have to be pulled off the patrols," Hugh says, already moving to the head, little flashlight out of his pocket and clicking on.

Left pupil reflex is normal, right is already so swollen shut he can't even see Collins' lashes anymore.

Nobody moves. Landry's back is straight like a steel rod.

    "Landry -"

    " _ Commander _ Landry." 

She doesn't even look at him. Hugh  _ hates _ her.

    " _ Commander _ Landry. I might be able to save him, if you let me, the guy with the MD, call the shots. Have your troop do as I said, and now, or otherwise you'll be attending a funeral today."

She nods at her troop, and they spring into action, DeMoniers heading over to Hugh's office, three others already putting hands on their comrade, quite ungently, but that's why Hugh took the shoulders. The rest head out, seeming quite a lot less bothered than they should be. Shell shock. Hugh has seen it a thousand times by now.

He hands a pair of scissors to the closest man.

    "Cut Collins' jacket away from him," he advises. "Be careful of potential superficial injuries. You two - get something to prop his legs up with. I can't have his brain lose blood now. And get me some blankets!"

They're all moving so sluggishly Hugh wants to scream.

And there's DeMoniers coming back with what Hugh calls the operating tent: several tripods with fabric between them. He puts it up quickly enough and makes for the big scanner, and there's Paul with an armful of the smaller machines, the PWS, the cardiovascular set, kicking a little trolley next to Hugh to set up the machines, Hugh stepping the brakes down and busying himself with the cardiovascular set, getting Collins' blood pressure and pulse and lung capacity, respiratory frequency, temperature, most of the values immediately dropping into red and beeping angrily.

This is all very much not good.

Hugh sets up the PWS mechanically, movements quick and practised, switching the dials and rearranging the poles until a light blue field shimmers around Collins' head,  and Paul hands him a set of scrubs - not that Hugh needs them, because it's not like he'll be able to sterilize properly, but he dips his fingers in the sterilizing solution anyways, leaves them in the recommended amount of time, Paul laying out pincers and swabs and scalpels and little trays, heaping blankets onto Collins while Hugh puts on gloves, the three soldiers still standing stock still. 

Hugh doesn't even think about dismissing them before diving in. Paul even brought a magnifying glass, and Hugh switches between looking at the indent with splintered bone and blood and torn skin and the scan, Paul having taken the breathing mask with the sedative gas from his hand and holding it over Collins' mouth and nose.

He is bleeding badly. And they'll have to get the bone shards out of his head, first of all. With luck, Hugh might be able to reconstruct the bone out of surgical cement later, but not if there's nothing to salvage.

So he sets to it, peeling back skin and flesh and cauterizing superficial blood vessels and pincering away fragments of bone, frequently consulting the scan and blood soaking his gloves. The cardiovascular set beeps accusingly at him.

    "We might have to break his zygomatic bone," Hugh says quietly to Paul. "It's still mostly attached, but it needs to go if we want to go deeper."

    "And we do want to go deeper?"

    "Not a matter of want as long as we want him to survive."

One of the soldiers groans miserably. Hugh looks up and realizes a bit suddenly that they're still there.

    "You guys are dismissed. Thank you for your help."

Three men sigh unanimously in relief.

    "Take the rest of the day off," Hugh calls after them, knowing Landry won't let them.

When he looks back, Paul is looking at him with a little quirk in his eyebrow.

    "They didn't look happy."

    "Remind me to question them later. I don't think they told us the truth, but right now they're too much in shock that I could find any use for them, even if I weren't performing emergency surgery."

Saying it out loud makes him realize that... yeah, he is indeed doing emergency surgery, but he's a lot less stressed about it than he'd think he would be, and there's no panic encroaching either. Paul is a solid, warm weight at his side, grounding him in the moment.

    "What do you need to do?"

    "Well, get rid of all the bone splinters first, peel back the skin, all that nasty stuff, and then... see how badly the brain is damaged. There's no question it has been hit, with all the bone around here, but... well, I have to check. And then patch him up."

    "What if it's too badly damaged? What if - what if it's hurt?"

Hugh purses his lips. "I... don't have permission to, um, ease his passing, so to speak, but... if push comes to shove... if I know he wouldn't make it, or he'd be so seriously disabled he wouldn't survive the war, I'll - in that case, I'd ask you to leave me, please. That's something I have to do on my own, and I can't let you share that responsibility."

Paul nods.

    "I understand."

    "Thank you."

They keep working in silence, only interrupted by Hugh occasionally asking for a certain tool. The cardiovascular still beeps shrilly, but the values aren't worsening considerably. The tray for bone splinters fills slowly. 

    "Okay, Paul? I need you to grab a level three pincer and help me here. If you angle the point here like this and - push - bit more - I'll push this part up and -"

_ Crack. _

    "There we go." Hugh drops the piece of zygomatic bone on the tray. "That was the worst bit, I think. Switch the magnifying glass one level higher, please."

And so he continues cleaning away the bone splinters, slowly getting further to Collins' temple. 

He pulls a relatively big piece of temporal bone out and winces.

    "This is not looking good. I think I can already see the meninges. Or -" Hugh probes gently. "No, that is already his brain."

He lifts the flaps of skin.

    "Hold these up for me. Yeah, the bone is all splintered here, and definitely indented."

    "What does that mean? Is he going to die?"

    "Hopefully not. But... I'm going to have to remove practically half of his skull."

And it's not pretty. The more splinters Hugh removes, the more of the meninges and brain he uncovers, the more partially already clotted blood he removes, the worse the knot in his stomach gets.

And then he pulls a piece of sheer bone right out of the temporal lobe.

    "Fuck."

There's another one, and a few smaller ones.

    "Is the brain going to grow back together?"

    "I've... heard of it happening, under extreme radioactive wave therapy. But... I don't know. I just don't know yet."

The honest answer would've been no. But maybe they're lucky and maybe a miracle will happen and maybe Collins is going to be fine.

Hugh cleans the wound and makes Paul get the organic concrete and gets on the patching. It's difficult, especially since Hugh has barely ever done it before, but there's something calming and steady about Paul next to him.

  
  
  


In comparison to his head, the rest of Collins' injuries are easy to fix, and pretty soon Hugh and Paul are tidying up. Well, not that soon, because the sun is already sinking and casting the almost perpetually open doors of the medbay into a sinister orange glow.

Paul is uncharacteristically quiet, and even more meticulous than usual. He also sends lots of looks Collins' way. Hugh wishes he could do more for the man.

    "Listen, Paul. Um... you don't sleep, do you?"

    "No."

    "Could you do me a favor?"

    "Stay with Collins tonight?"

Hugh huffs a laugh and looks at his shoes. "Yeah. Usually... on Earth, when you had to have a surgery that big, you'd be under constant surveillance for a while. I can't do that here, and... to be honest, um, I'd prefer not pulling 24-hour shifts until he's... until he's fine again."

Paul's pretty blue eyes grow huge. "You'd do that?"

    "Obviously I'd prefer not to. But if I had no other choice... I've done it before. Camp out next to someone's cot, drink lots of coffee and when I was just at the threshold to unconsciousness, I'd nap for a bit, but usually the machines would wake me up anyways."

    "That's horrible," Paul says quietly. "Of course I'll watch over him. You need your sleep."

    "Thank you."

And then Hugh does the unthinkable and reaches over to squeeze Paul's hand. It's warm, and soft, not a single callus anywhere, and Paul squeezes back, still looking at Hugh.

Hugh's stomach flips and he feels the best kind of nauseous, stepping closer to kiss ---

Yeah, no, not to kiss Paul. Wow, that was a close one.

    "Thank you", he says again, takes a step back, a normal adult distance, ignoring that his heart is beating in his throat and his fingers still around Paul's. He wants to say something, anything, maybe a stupid joke to reestablish their normal emotional distance, but Paul isn't blinking and Hugh can't look away either. There are things to tidy and he has to tend to the rest of Collins' team, most of who looked quite a lot worse for the wear, but he also really wants to keep holding Paul's hand.

  
  
  


They are interrupted once again by Landry, who demands Hugh fix up her team. He tries to argue with her to give them some time off, because as untrained as he might be as a psychologist, an earthworm could tell that these people are horribly traumatized and just need a break, but what can you do when it's Landry on a quest to impress the hell out of Lorca?

  
  


Hugh goes to sleep in a Paul-less room, for the first time for weeks, and even though he could never even hear Paul so much as breathe or move, it still feels empty. Also Hugh's back hurts from the surgery. And he's still wide awake.

It almost feels like there's no  _ need _ to sleep if Paul isn't in the room. Which is ridiculous, because rather there would be no need to sleep if Paul were with him in the room, because then he could talk to him.

So Hugh spends some quality time tossing and turning in his bed before he eventually falls into a restless sleep.

  
  


He's shaken awake by Paul, more harsh than he'd ever expect.

    "Hugh, you have to come. Quick! I think he's dying! Come on!"

Aw fuck.

Hugh snaps into overdrive immediately after that thought, but he's exhausted, so his fingers and knees shake, Paul already bounding down the stairs again to stand at Collins' bedside where Hugh joins him moments later.

The man is making little aborted grunts, jerking oddly, lashes fluttering, and he's foaming at the mouth, the vital signs clearly through the roof.

    "Get me the electroencephalogramm," Hugh advises Paul, already bending over Collins, checking his pupils.

Paul arrives with the machine moments later, but even as Hugh is getting the electrodes on Collin's head, he's already fearing the worst, and the results he gets are lining up well with that.

He's oddly composed as he removes the electrodes again, very suddenly down from the fear high he was on.

   "Paul, stay with him for a moment. I need to get something."

Of course Hugh hadn't been equipped for these things, neither training-wise nor equipment-wise, but he'd learned how to make do pretty quickly, and ever since that first time, he kept a little box full of worst case things, including a voice recorder, which he takes out first.

    "This is Doctor Hugh Culber. It's March 18th, 2158, um, six twenty-three AM. Mister John Collins came back yesterday from a raid with severe trauma to the head and face, including the brain. I performed emergency reconstructive surgery, but today at six twenty AM I was informed that his condition had worsened. Blood pressure 160 to 30, pulse 20 beats per minute, oxygen saturation at 55 percent, electroencephalogramm reads bleeding in all seven areas of Kagel as well as fluctuating electronegativity levels with areas one and four already nonresponsive. I will administer two grams of morphine intravenously because -" This is the hardest part, and Hugh has to swallow before he can continue. "Because I believe there is nothing further I can do for Mister Collins and my current faculties do not allow me to save him. Instead, I want to -" God. His fingers are shaking. "I want to assist him into a death that is as painless as possible. I understand that this is against the oath I took, so I will bear that responsibility alone. I am of sound mind and have not been influenced to make this decision."

He puts the voice recorder back and takes out one of the syringes instead. '2g morphine' the label says, scrawled in his handwriting. 

Nothing has ever made him this sick.

He takes care to keep the syringe concealed when he steps back outside the office and next to Paul, who's talking quietly to Collins, trying to keep him steady. Not that the man can hear or appreciate any of that, but it makes Hugh's raw emotions feel even more overwhelming.

    "Paul, I need you to go get Landry. Building C, I think, second level, officers' quarters."

Paul looks at him, and he understands, and that's maybe the worst part, that he sees through Hugh's façade so quickly, how his brows turn upward and how hurt creeps into his eyes.

    "Hugh..."

    "No. I need to do this alone. Please, Paul. I can't drag you into this. Just get Landry, she'll need to be informed."

Paul starts to reach out, but then the oxygen saturation alert goes even higher, and he flinches back.

    "Okay," he says, and Hugh watches him turn and leave before turning back to Collins.

    "You were a good man," Hugh says, sitting down on his bedside and taking his now limp arm. The soldier has stopped convulsing, but the EEG's readings are deteriorating by the second, and the assumed pain meter is way in the red zone. "I'm sorry. I hope that wherever this gets you, you'll be in a better place."

Empty fucking words for a man Hugh failed to save. 

He watches the needle penetrate skin, a tiny drop of blood seeping out because Hugh didn't use a cuff, watches his fingers depress the syringe until it's empty. 

Vital signs register for a few more moments, and then silence presses in on him, none of the machines going into frantic 'oh god the patient is dead' overdrive ever since he switched that feature off.

He should probably say a prayer of some sorts, but nothing comes to mind.

_ Time of Death: 6:30 _ blinks on the screen of the EEG that Hugh can see. He needs to clean the place up, stow the machines, disinfect his hands, do the report, formulate a letter to Collins' next of kin. Tell Lorca. Get up and do something.

Instead, he stares at Collins' face. It's heavily bandaged, and if he didn't know who was underneath all that, he wouldn't be able to tell. 

What did the Klingons to do that to the man's head? Why had he been clammy wet when brought to Hugh? Why did every injury look rather like it was made by a huge animal rather than a sentient being, even though none of Alterra's land dwelling animals are anywhere near big or aggressive enough?

An image comes into view before his inner eye, a huge disfigured alien, part purple octopus part insect, part organic part mechanical. He'd never seen Tyler's scans for that creature, had never even heard reports of creatures like this. So what if... what if the Klingons aren't the only threat out there?

Hugh strokes a thumb over the inside of Collins' arm. He's not cold yet, but already has the distinct lifeless quality of someone recently deceased. Why does Hugh have to know these things so instinctively? Why doesn't he hope they're just sleeping anymore? When did he stop being a blue-eyed little optimist and became so resigned?

  
  
  


He's only physically present during the dressing down Landry gives him, and then she orders her people to take care of Collins, and Hugh goes to clean up like a good doctor, not thinking about anything except the needle punching through Collins' skin.

And then he's finished and even though he's itching to do something, anything else, but there's also that hollow ache inside that makes him mindlessly restack the storage boxes, drink some coffee, clear the office up nicely, and then he's walking across the camp with Paul because Paul said to come with him, and somewhere the sun is bright and the sky is blue and they're leaving the camp behind them and Paul must've gripped Hugh's arm sometime because his hand is still there, a kind of anchor.

  
  


There are pretty azure waves lapping at a golden beach right in front of Hugh's feet, and Paul's hand falls away from Hugh's elbow, but he stays right at Hugh's side.

    "I thought you'd need a change of scenery, maybe." Paul's voice wavers. "And also you need to go outside more. Vitamin D is important for the human metabolism. And you could go for a swim, if you'd like. It's good for your endorphin levels, and I know you enjoy swimming."

The last bit is what really yanks Hugh back to consciousness.

    "How do you know that?"

    "Tilly told me."

Of course she did.

Hugh breathes in the fresh air and tries to smile.

    "Or, if you don't want to swim, we could climb over those rocks onto the outcropping over there." Paul points, and Hugh is again drawn to how pale his skin is.

So they do climb over the jagged rocks over to the outcropping, Hugh never turning back to look at the camp, ignoring the knowledge that he should be there, should be on call. Instead, he observes the bright blue sky and the darker blue sea that stretches on forever, and the even darker blue of the uniform pants' fabric over Paul's ass. Oops.

Paul holds him steady while climbing onto the outcropping as well, and then, right in front of Hugh's toes, the cliff descends into a deep blue abyss. There are waves gently lapping at the little cliff they're standing on, and Paul's hand still holding Hugh steady, and he feels... he feels so calm suddenly that he wants to cry with the shock.

    "Are you okay?" Paul asks quietly. He's standing close enough that his breath tickles Hugh's ear.

And Hugh says the only true thing, his only ray of hope: "I will be."

It's of course easy to believe in that when the sun is bright and the sky is blue and Paul is standing so close to him, but Hugh really does want to believe in it, wants it to be true, now more than ever.

There's a bit of a breeze now that they're so comparatively far out, but it doesn't feel cold, and some of Alterra's weird broad-winged birds are circling in the sky. Hugh looks down into the water, wondering whether he dares to go for a swim. 

    "Paul?"

    "Yes?"

    "Is the water safe?"

    "For what?"

    "I think I'd like to go for a swim, but I don't want to be eaten by anything - well, by anything."

Paul is quiet for a short moment, during which he probably scans the water, and then he says: "There are no lifeforms bigger than your hand higher up than a hundred meters."

    "And... below that?"

    "I can't scan that far. The distortion from the water - especially since it's so sulphuric - makes it more than difficult."

    "Alright, well, I should be fine if I don't go lower then, right? And... you'll save me if I get attacked by any monsters."

    "Of course."

Paul releases the hold on Hugh's elbow, and he starts stripping efficiently, all the way down to his underwear, folding the clothes up haphazardly and finally taking off his socks as well, toes curling around the smooth cool stone. He moves forward to the edge of the cliff, a sheer drop, but only five meters or so, no dangerous distance at all, and there are no rocks hiding beneath the surface either.

The breeze makes goosebumps prickle on his exposed skin, and he feels more alive than he has in a long time.

He toes the edge and jumps, not a perfect head first dive but the momentary rush of air makes his heart beat faster anyways, and then the coolness of water greets him.

Hugh keeps his eyes closed, because he'd rather not test his eyes' reaction to a sulphur solution. 

Buoyancy makes him come up to the surface again and he breaches, immediately breathing in and blinking his eyes open. There's nothing but the vast blueness of the ocean in front of him, and nothing else underneath him, either. It's scary to consider what might be lurking there.

Yeah, let's not consider that.

He does a few long, leisurely strokes, closing his eyes partway and enjoying the sunlight. This, just basking in the sun, water refreshingly cool around him... he's been dreaming about that for months now. Ideally there would be seagulls crying above, children laughing and squealing on the beach, an ice cream vendor calling out his products.

He dips his head back under, accidentally opening his eyes. Surprisingly, the water doesn't hurt at all, just creates the regular odd stiffness in blinking like sweet water does, and Hugh can see pretty far. The weird thing about swimming in clear water is always how close things seem, and without thinking he comes up for air and then dives down to what looks to be a ledge in the ground. There are some weirdly flat black fish scuttling about, with carapaces, whirling up sand, and the closer Hugh gets, the bigger they get.

He barely notices the pressure in his lungs increasing because his arms are burning and his fingers suddenly touch the smooth ledge of rock. There are a few scratchy-looking plants, and then that carapaced fish. Biodiversity is pretty low, Hugh thinks, and it's odd that the allegedly so sulphuric waters are so comparatively gentle on his eyes.

He wants to dive deeper, just a little, get a better view of the jagged rock further down where it's colder and darker, little outcroppings on the rock helping him propel himself deeper. There's something down here, a thin fin vanishing in the mist of deep waters, and curiosity gets the better of Hugh. Only a little peek...

He gets bitten in the ass. Literally. A sharp, jagged pain, seemingly out of nowhere, and then the weird crunchy sound that must be the roar of the carapaced fish, which has a glowing red mouth with lots of sharp teeth and Hugh already kicks out at him, hitting a hard underbelly and flinching reflexively when his toes hit at a bad angle.

The fish growls again, wriggling closer, and Hugh's bleeding badly enough that he's trailing clouds of blood, which will surely draw in larger predators, but the fish isn't letting off, and Hugh's lungs are burning, the weight of the water above him suddenly pressing in on him as he tries to kick again and again, strength failing him with dwindling oxygen.

The thin fin flicks again in the periphery of Hugh's vision, and then a roar shakes his eardrums, louder than anything he's ever heard before, and he doesn't need a primal brain to tell him that there's an apex predator here.

The next kick at the flat fish twirls him around and he sees how he only barely misses an enormous mandible grasping for him, dark red with black tips, and a huge face with jagged teeth, a huge immobile dorsal fin, four glaring yellow eyes, and Hugh is flailing now, desperately grabbing at yielding water and kicking out, just to get away from the primeval water serpent snapping at him, vision blackening at the edges, and is it blood loss or is it pressure or is it lack of oxygen or is it the other fish having vanished, unable to compete against what Hugh is facing, evading with another twist to the side, only it brings him closer, only just yanking his foot from that creatures teeth, two broad cuts appearing on the top of his foot regardless, hands touching on scarred leather-like skin with black spots now dancing in his vision, barely managing to avoid the mandibles when he kicks off, pain radiating through his glutes and the world becoming darker and murkier by the moment, by the breath he can't take even though his lungs are on fire and begging him to quench them with the water around, and a grasp around his middle, likely something other that wants his meat as well, a bony tentacle of the ultimate predator, and Hugh allows himself to go limp in its grasp.

Not that he can do much about it anymore.

He thinks about Paul. His pretty blue eyes. Pretty pink lips. Little pout. Warm skin. Quirky smile.

Hugh would really have liked a shot with him. In another universe, perhaps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nice one, eh? ;)  
> quick "warning" for the next chapter: it will be... a little different, but i've been told it's heartbreaking :3
> 
> also, i've got a general question, esp to the peeps who never skip anything: is the m rating still sufficient? or do i need to change to e? i never know when to use which rating when writing something other than varying levels of physical intimacy, sooooooo.....
> 
> ANYWAYS thank all of you SO much for reading this thing that isn't a silly little story anymore (silly yes, but not little anymore, i'm afraid :D). i can't really put that into words or... reply properly to comments or anything bc i'm Bad at that but just... yeah thank you so, so, so much :')
> 
> (also psst i'd like to point out that i would definitely tag a main character death.... food for thought.... :3)


	15. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D a fun and different chapter!  
> nothing bad happens here, but a friend of mine said she actually cried from the emotions this chapter evokes?? so i'm "sorry" i guess :D
> 
> (also shoutout to whimsicalwonderings, who commented on the last chapter today and lo and behold, i did indeed deliver what you asked for :DD)

Looking back on things, it's really funny how often I was wrong about… everything. You’d think as an android, I should be always right, since my brain is nothing but a computer in a prettier package, lots of zeros and ones. It's weird. Maybe that's a stereotype too. 

But the thing is... I'm usually wrong about how I think things will be, so I'm starting to expect exactly the opposite of my expectations. That has the regrettable side effect of knowing not to expect my expectations, either, because they have become their own opposite.

Yeah, doesn't make sense to me either. Thinking thoughts when feelings are involved is... complicated. And there are so many feelings. So pretty, all of them.

Like sunrises. Dr Culber - Hugh has a window that points straight west, which is where the sun rises, and I get to see most of them. Hugh usually wakes up moments after, so I don't get to see too much of them. He's been efficient about showering after getting used to that, and so we usually go down to the medbay very quickly.

But the sunrises are still pretty. Through the window and on his skin, and then, like he fears the alarm waking him, his body goes into deeper sleep, almost at the same time as the first ray of sun touches his face. 

I've never slept, so maybe that's to be expected.

And it's funny, too, how I was so dead set on hating him, how I expected him to be a bad person. And now... the more I learn about him, the better a person he becomes. He's hurting, somewhere deep and sincere. That's another one of those emotions that I can't put into words - or zeros and ones, I guess, since that's what I think in, even though they do take the shape of words. Pain. Mourning, maybe. Or maybe something else. 

I guess.. if I had to describe what he's feeling, I'd say that it's the opposite of a sunrise. Because when the sun rises, it brightens everything, and things only get prettier from then on. And his feelings are falling down somewhere where there's less and less light with every passing moment.

Awfully poetic words from a machine, I know. He makes me do that. An... unexpected side effect of being around Hugh Culber. He makes you want to be poetic, like you're a prince trying to woo a highborn lady.

There, I did it again.

Again funny, I suppose, because maybe he is right and all he's shown me was basic human decency and I just overreact because I've never received that before.

But then I guess not many humans are decent.

_They_ sure hadn't been. But I don't like to think about that.

I do, however, like thinking about Hugh. And is it because he's nice to me? Because I really like that. It makes me feel... good. Which arrangement of zeros and ones would that be?

I like when he smiles at me. It feels like he smiles at me differently than he does at other people. Generally, not a lot of people around here smile. Hugh does. So does Tilly, and... well, Michael smiles at Tilly, but she doesn't smile at me anymore. I've never seen Tyler smile. Or Lorca. There isn't much reason to smile around here. I understand that.

But... why does Hugh smile at me? Statistically, over seventy percent (74.9%, to be exact, but if I am exact I feel more machine than... than human, I guess. And I prefer feeling human, because humans _can_ feel. Machines don't.) of the times he looks at me, he smiles, even if it's just a little.

Maybe because I'm the only other non soldier. 

But is Tilly a soldier?

Hugh smiles at Tilly, too, but not quite as often, and not... not the same way. 

Sometimes he smiles at me with just his eyes. I like it when he does that.

Not that I don't like it when he smiles at me normally, but when he just looks at me but I can feel him smiling? That makes me feel... it makes me feel human, again, because surely a machine couldn't understand the sentiment, could it?

There are a few worrying aspects though. The soldier Hugh had to kill today. He was... odd after that. Not odd like he already is in showing me kindness, but... different. Like something was missing. Like a machine without a battery.

But humans don't work like machines. Of course they need their nourishment, and hydration, and sleep, but I don't think they can survive on that alone. Otherwise Tyler wouldn't be so unwell.

I think that's what they mean when they talk about a soul. That bit of... of life that distinguishes them from animals and plants and - and from machines. From _me_.

So maybe Tyler's soul got damaged. And maybe every time something bad happens, every time a soldier dies, maybe Hugh's soul gets injured then.

That would make sense.

But then what am I? And if the humans can build - if I do have a soul, albeit a synthetic one, one that was built by humans, does that mean that I, too, am alive like they are? And wouldn't that mean that they can heal their soul injuries? That they can do something when it looks like someone's eyes got turned off like a light?

And that would make me as important as they are. As... hmm, as valid, maybe? Is that a good word?

It's a terrifyingly pleasant thought. Which I admittedly have thought about before, being as important as a human. As good. As _right_. As natural. 

Because it would mean I could claim a place among them. Be like them. _Belong_.

And... and have a life. I'm not sure what the appeal in 'a wife, two kids and a white picket fence' is, but maybe if I become more human, I will understand.

Another quirky thing about humans that I didn't know about: sometimes they talk in their sleep. Or maybe it's just Hugh. But... he'll say my name sometimes. Not the number. My name. The name I thought of, I decided upon, the one he accepted with that smile he gives me. He says that name sometimes. The first time it happened I responded, of course, but then he just turned around a little and kept sleeping. And now I've almost gotten used to it.

I like how it sounds in his mouth. It feels... I'm not sure. It reminds me of those times we held hands.

And that is yet another curiosity. Touching. Holding hands. Clearly, there are rules as to how much you're allowed to touch who. I don't think Hugh would hold Tyler's hand, but he did hold Collins' hand earlier today, when he... when I came back with Landry and Hugh had killed him. Why do I feel so much about this man I never met? And also... why do I get angry when I think about Hugh holding someone else's hand, maybe Abrams'? Why didn't I get angry when he and Tilly slept together?

And why do I want to hold Hugh's hand again? What is the significance of that action? People hold hands for all kinds of reasons. Why should it make me feel anything when it's about Hugh?

See, the thing is... most of these questions and most of these feelings arise around Hugh. At least I assume they are feelings, and not - not sub-programs, or routines. I think I like the idea of how organic feelings are. How individual. Even though some of them are good and others not so much, and I prefer some.

So what is it in that action of holding someone by the hand that makes me feel good when Hugh does it with me, but makes me feel bad when Hugh does it to someone else? Shouldn't I be unconcerned about that? Hugh can do whatever he likes, after all.

Everything has become so complicated since I got out of storage. No answers, only more and more questions, and now whatever it is with Hugh. I do like him, I really do, but - well, maybe I just never knew what it felt like to like someone who wasn't my creator.

Hugh is very nice. And very aesthetically pleasing. And patient with me, and welcoming, and actually quite funny.

It could be worse, really. He could be someone like Lorca, or Landry. Someone who _isn't_ nice. As far as people to protect go, I think I got lucky. So... maybe I really did get lucky, overall. If I think back and remember how I thought I'd never leave the lab, and then how I thought I'd spend the rest of eternity in storage.

And now I'm here. Outside. Breathing fresh air for the first time in my existence, and seeing trees and birds and grass and the ocean. Meeting people. Doing something new. New experiences and new... so many new things.

It really could've been worse.

Of course the questions are... annoying, so to speak, especially since I don't know how to word most of them well enough to ask Hugh for help with them. Not that there is time for that, either, but... it could've been worse.

And... even if they send me back to storage after this - which they will, unless I get destroyed - at least I'll have something to remember. I think I understand what Tilly meant with that. Living for a certain while, having some kind of milestone. A hundred sunrises. I'm only twenty-five in, ever since I stepped off the shuttle lander, but I think I can already see what she meant.

And funnily enough, a lot of that... enjoyment, maybe, that I'm finding in this existence, this _life_ \- if I may be so bold and apply that term to myself as well, even though I am a robot - is tied to Hugh.

So if someone could tell me what that means, that would be great.

Also why do I remember all these little details about Hugh so well? The planes of his back, the dips between his abs, the veins on his fingers and the strong corded muscles in his forearm. The shape of his behind. Those little gold bars through his nipples. The curve of his lower lip. The way his voice sounds. All those little things, and so many more, and I remember them about Hugh, think about them with something that might just be fondness. That doesn't happen to me with anybody else. I like Tilly - she's probably my second favorite person, after Hugh - but I don't remember things about her in nearly as great detail.

Well, that's not true. I do have perfect memory. But why do the memories pertaining to Hugh come to the surface more often, and always unbidden?

That's frustrating.

I wish I could say I don't like it, but I really do like it, a lot. 

Overall, not a bad end to my existence, if I get to spend it alongside Hugh, no matter how confusing.


	16. XV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter has butt touches :) please enjoy
> 
> also watch out for uhh graphic murder in the first paragraph

The world is fire, burning him up alive from the inside, a giant spaceship hovering in front of a sinister sky, and Hugh is shaking, shaking from the iciness of the flames, the colossal orb that seems to power the ship drawing him in, forcing him to beg if only there wasn't air forcing its way through his trachea and heartbreaking pressure on his heart, sharp pain through his legs and glutes as he's on his knees, a hand on his throat which won't close against the air forcing its way in without Hugh even breathing, lungs refusing to respond and widening anyways, and a sharp kick forcing his legs further apart, leather boot and black pants and golden belt and a tip of a knife forcing forcing forcing Hugh's head up up up, shiny black vest with emblems and -

He breathes.

For the first time in his existence, he breathes, feeling air fill his lungs, cool and invigorating, like freedom.

Paul.

His eyes are blue and his lips are pink and his hair is done nicely.

Paul. Like Hugh's own personal angel.

And he's going to make things alright.

_“Hugh!”_

The tip of the knife drags over Hugh's adam's apple, forcing his neck to bend and once again his heart is pressed to breaking, splotchy, flaring fire over his ribs and burning fire in his lungs and no air and sharp, jagged pain through the back of his thigh, and she walks slowly, dressed completely in gold and the sword feels like it's already down Hugh's throat even though she's away, meters, maybe miles, vision blurring, like something is yanking at him from behind his sternum.

“He has become a liability,” she says, emperor and menacing monster, like a – and her accent reminds Hugh of something, someone, far away where things were - “I told you to dispose of him, but you did not.”

_“Hugh, come back!”_

“So I tell you now, dispose of him, in front of me, so I won't be disappointed again.”

Paul is beautiful, flickering in front of Hugh's eyes, close, close, so close, bending down, close enough to kiss despite the blade at his neck, pushing in and parting skin and Hugh reaches up for that kiss, lips already meeting soft and pretty and air pushing into his lungs again while Paul's knife slides through his throat, far too easily, and he's flickering, taking a step back, wearing a blue uniform of lighter fabric and smiling, Hugh's thumb rubbing over Paul's cheek and ear, and they'll be going to the opera together as soon as the burning stops and he spits out water onto a yellow beach, lungs desperately coughing and burning, every breath he manages to gasp in bubbling and water dripping from his mouth and his body, and his backside is burning with a sharp, jagged pain, three or four ribs seeming to creak with every breath he takes and dark spots dancing in front of his eyes.

He falls back into the sand and then night comes with cool bliss.

 

 

 

A light, brightly lit shape moves over Hugh, lips moving but he can't hear yet, vision still swimming but Paul starts to crystallize like fresh snow.

“Hugh. Can you hear me? Hugh?”

“Yeah.” Hugh's voice feels like there's a bucketful of gravel rolling in his throat.

Paul sighs, so obviously relieved, and a small smile shows up.

“Good. How are you?”

Hugh considers that. He's lying on sand, which he feels because he's naked. It's itchy and unpleasant and wet. He is wet.

Pain practically rips through his left backside like searing metal, pulsating, and Hugh slams his head back into the sand, scrunching his eyes shut and groaning with pain.

And it doesn't stop, throbbing and just plain fucking hurting!

“Hugh, can you get up? I understand you're injured, but we need to get up and get away from here.”

Paul's talking to him through a fog. Hugh wants to curl up and cry, but curling up already would be way too painful, so he clenches his teeth and concentrates on staying awake.

It's harder than he thought.

“Hugh! You have to stay awake, and you have to get up! Captain Lorca is going to come looking for us, and he will not be happy when we're not in camp. Please! I – I'll help you walk, but please get up.”

Hugh blinks again, tries to focus his eyes on Paul.

“Paul,” he manages.

“Yes?”

He has to remember the frown on Paul's face for later, when he can appreciate the cuteness again. Now he just tries to work up the energy to spell out his question.

“What happened?” The words leave him in an exhausted rush and his eyes threaten to fall shut again, but he wants to look at Paul. Looking at Paul is good and makes it hurt a little less.

“I’m going to tell you if you come with me. Please.” Paul takes Hugh’s arm and tugs slightly and through some kind of miracle, Hugh manages to force his abs to contract and pull himself up and -

Oh holy balls.

Pain lights up white-hot in his glutes, favoring the left side but really, he couldn’t tell, can barely concetrate on not falling back into the sand. Distantly, there’s Paul’s hand wrapping around his biceps, steadying him and pulling him closer to his chest and Hugh burns and burns and falls into Paul, breathing against his skin, clinging on until the pain passes.

Paul is rubbing little circles into his back and he tries to focus on that.

“Hugh, please, we have to get up. I’ll carry you if I have to, but I’d prefer if you put on clothes and walked with me.”

His voice is so soothing. Hugh could listen to it forever.

“Lorca will not be amused we went away, and he’ll be even less happy about you getting injured. If we’re quick, we might be able to treat you and he won’t notice. But if I have to carry you into camp…”

He’s right. Of course he’s right, because he’s always right, and Hugh both hates and loves him for that.

“I think… pull me onto my feet, then I should be able to stand.”

Or not. After the pain from the sudden movement subsides, nausea comes up, threatening at the back of his throat, world lurching and swirling around him, black spots dancing and pounding in his head. 

Good god he’ll be more free with painkillers.

“Are you okay?” Paul’s hands rub over his back again and Hugh tries to focus on that. “Hugh?”

“Fine. Help me get dressed?”

 

 

He can stand on his own, it turns out. A bit wobbly, but it’s okay as long as he keeps the injured leg off the ground. While Paul gets his clothes, he looks himself down. The torn shreds of his underwear are flopping in the surf, and there’s a gentle breeze playing over his skin that takes only fractions off the pain in his ass and back of his upper thigh. And yet he’s reminded of home. His parents’ house was so close to the beach that in summer they’d often spend entire weeks there, usually skinny dipping because it wasn’t a hugely full beach anyways, building sand castles and playing beach volleyball and later taking turns riding his sister’s horse along the flat wet sand right at the surf.

Homesickness hits him like a slap to the face and he squeezes his eyes shut to keep the burning tears inside. He just wants to hug his mom. Please.

Paul’s fingers touch his shoulder again and Hugh swallows against the lump in his throat, but it doesn’t really go away.

“Hugh?”

“I’m fine,” he chokes out, blinks and opens his eyes. “I’m fine. It just hurts.”

“I understand that.”

Do you?, Hugh wants to ask. Do you really? Have you ever felt pain like that, have you ever missed your family like that? You have no _idea_ what it feels like.

Paul wouldn’t deserve that, of course.

So he lets himself be helped back into his uniform, and then Paul steadies him on the way back to camp. He wraps his jacket around Hugh’s hips eventually, likely to hide the stain of red blood that makes the pantleg cling to Hugh’s thigh, and a wave of gratefulness washes through him at that, but there are no words to explain because all his energy goes into walking.

 

 

 

Through some miracle, they make it to medbay undetected. Paul helps Hugh onto a cot after wrestling his pants back off him.

“I think you need stitches,” he announces, tips of his pointer and middle finger resting just above the swell of Hugh’s ass.

“Get me some fucking meds first. And - Paul? Get some gloves, a decon unit… uhh, sterile wipes and a camera of some sorts. I want to see the damage first.”

Paul complies and Hugh manages not to wince too much - okay, that’s a lie - but eventually Paul is able to take a relatively clean picture to show Hugh.

And… he wants to throw up. Maybe that’s some leftover nausea from the water still burning in his trachera and bronchi, but maybe it’s the sight of his own flayed flesh.

“Okay,” he says, tries to breathe and calm down. “Okay. Yeah, okay, that’ll need sutures. Okay. Um, you want to get some Lidocain, a sewing set, gloves, um… wipes, iodine -“ God, it’s hard to concentrate. “Well, that stuff. You know.”

 

 

It’s a little better with the local anaesthetic, and Paul is very gentle, but there’s still a dull throbbing pain that Hugh can feel. Plus he was never a big fan of local anaesthetics, especially not if you can still feel some pressure.

“Tell me what happened?” he asks into the cot’s mat.

Paul sighs. “You went swimming, I… did some thinking, but I kept an eye on you. And you… you went deep into the water. Very deep. I got a bit worried, but you seemed to be fine. And then you got attacked by that first fish. I couldn’t see well, and the rock seemed to be interfering with my x-rays, and then you got attacked by the big fish.”

Oh yeah. Hugh remembers _that_.

“So I jumped into the water and swam to you as fast as I could. But you were running out of air and you were wounded badly, and the big fish was very aggressive, and I thought -“ Paul’s voice suddenly gets scratchy. “I thought you were dead. When I finally pulled you out of the water, I thought you were dead. Your heart wasn’t beating anymore, you weren’t breathing, I just - I was so afraid. Especially since I took you out to the water, and I told you it was safe and it wasn’t. I failed you, Hugh.”

Ah. Well, that’s not a conversation he’d like to have right now while he’s still in pain, but he also can’t let Paul sit on his emotions, can he?

So he says: “You didn’t. There’s no way you could’ve anticipated that.”

“I should’ve gone in with you then!”

“No. Honestly… as much as I’m relieved you’re not a dick, I just need some time alone on occasions.”

“You shower alone. You sleep alone. You even eat alone sometimes. And besides - if you were dead -“

“But I’m not. And those alone times don’t count. I need - Paul, sometimes I need to just be by myself, with no other people around. And I need that a whole lot more than I’m getting. Maybe I’ll explain the concept of social exhaustion to you some time, but I’m an introvert, Paul. I need my alone time.”

“Explain it now.”

Hugh sighs and keeps quiet for a moment. 

“Fine. It means - introverted means that I’m not, not an outgoing person, I guess. That I don’t have an easy time approaching people, that I don’t necessarily enjoy huge crowds or constantly hanging out with people. That I rather need a very specific small group of friends than knowing a hundred people. And… social exhaustion… sometimes it’s just all too much, you know? Social situations will just be incredibly draining eventually, even if there are just one or two people, and I just need a lot of time being completely on my own to recharge from that. Completely alone. It has nothing to do with you, or with, I don’t know, Tilly or Michael, it’s just that I need to be alone sometimes. Get some space to breathe, to just - to not be around people. Some people I can stand to be around longer, others not, but eventually I’ll always need to be able to withdraw myself a bit. I haven’t been able to do that in… a very long time.”

“How is it exhausting?”

“I don’t know. Paul, just -“

“Do you need to be alone more?”

“I know you can’t leave me alone that much, and you’re… better than others, it’s just… the whole… I just need space sometimes.”

“I could leave you alone more.” Paul’s voice is so matter of fact, so robotic again, that Hugh can’t help but wonder whether maybe he’s a bit hurt. “I could - you could sleep alone, and I would keep watch down here. Maybe we could agree on a schedule, and at a certain time you’d go upstairs and then only come down when you’re awake again. That should be okay.”

Hugh’s bruised chest feels like it suddenly widened at the possible slot of alone-ness.

“If that’s okay with you, Paul…” he starts, unsure. Of course he likes Paul’s presence, and… it’s even calming, some nights, to wake up from a nightmare to find Paul hovering uncertainly close, looking like he’s just about to reach out and comfort him and… Hugh would very much like for Paul to comfort him then, hold him and tell him it’s all going to be alright. A very infantile attitude, of course, but maybe believing it will be easier when Paul tells him. 

On the other hand, Hugh can feel himself yearning for some time alone, and as soon as Lorca finds out about Paul not practically sitting on him while sleeping, he’ll be back in Hugh’s room anyways.

So he says: “I’d like that, yes. It’s nothing personal, I just… need space. I -“ And yeah, maybe a better explanation is in order, right now that Paul has his fingers on Hugh’s ass. Perfect timing. “Paul… I really like you. I really do. I didn’t expect to, and - to be honest, I was wondering how I could - well. How I could maybe get rid of you. But you’ve really grown on me, and I know it’s only been… what, three weeks? And I can’t imagine going through - through all this, without you. I don’t know what I’d do. And I don’t mean to be ungrateful, Paul, that’s not what this is. I just need some space.”

“I understand.” Paul smooths over his skin, rubs gentle circles into the dimples just above Hugh’s butt, and - right. There’s still the part of Paul sewing him up and now petting his ass. Sounds… too good to be true. “I don’t - I like you too. And… maybe… I know you were intended to be my ward, but…” He puts away some tools with a metallic clink and dabs at the wound. “I didn’t save - when I - when you got attacked, and I noticed it, I didn’t save you because I had to. I did it because I wanted to. Now, I don’t know whether that makes much of a difference to you, but… it does to me.”

“To me too,” Hugh says, tongue suddenly thick with emotion.

“And I’m happy I seem to have a CPR routine somewhere.”

“You gave me CPR?” Hugh tries to twist around in surprise, but Paul presses a hand between his shoulderblades to keep him unmoving while he works a bandage onto the dorsal side of Hugh’s foot.

“Yes, of course. I had to! Your heart had stopped beating, you weren’t breathing, but you were bleeding, badly.”

“How about defi-ing me?”

“What?”

“You know, electric discharge so my pacemaker cells do their work again?”

“Oh! Well, for that I would need electrodes on my palms, wouldn’t I?”

“You… don’t have that? But you’re a robot!”

Paul stiffens so noticably that Hugh could swear the air around them turned into liquid ice.

“Android. Sorry.”

“I think you’re all done now,” Paul says with that same stiffness in his voice, smoothing the bandage down one last time before turning away, hastily stuffing equipment away.

“Wait!” Hugh tries to turn on the cot, flinching in pain before he manages to turn around enough to see Paul from the corner of his eye. “Paul, I didn’t mean it like that! I meant -“

“I know exactly what you meant,” Paul snaps. “Don’t worry about it.”

The effort it takes Hugh to get up and stumble the way to the office on one pretty numb leg is scary, and leaning against the porous concrete. Right. He’s still very naked.

“No, you don’t. Paul, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m - I’m -“ Shaking. That’s what he is. “I think I might be in shock.” He’s also realizing that the world is tilting sideways. Funny.

 

 

 

He comes to with his head in a pillow. Or what passes for a pillow on Alterra. Blanket tugged up to his shoulders, just how he likes it when he’s on his stomach, and something warm draped over his feet. And there’s a note sticking to the bedpost -

_You fainted. I think you’re in shock. I checked your vitals, and they’re fine; I also did a blood test and am waiting for the results. Please stay in bed, I’ll mind the sickbay and will come by later with food. -Paul_

He’s got cute handwriting. Very neat, with some loops here and there.

Hugh holds the note for a while and smiles at it. There are a lot of bad things around, and he can still feel at least a dull throbbing in his ass (no, not the happy kind), but he’ll probably be fine as long as he doesn’t think of it too much or attempts to run a marathon.

Oh. Right. Yeah, he’s also not going to work out anytime soon. Or sit. Or lie on his back. Or do much walking, really. 

There’s a hypospray of pain medicine laying just next to his pillow too, but he’ll save that for later when it really hurts. As for now, he’ll close his eyes a little and doze. Also daydream about Paul technically kissing him since he did give him air. Nice.

 

 

 

“Hey,” a soft voice wakes him.

There’s Paul, holding a tray of what might just be the Corp’s idea of food in one hand and one with medical supplies in the other one.

“Oh, good, you were only dozing. I don’t have enough arms to wake you. A design flaw, I’m sure.” He’s grinning, so the remark wasn’t meant to pick a fight with Hugh.

“Nah, you’re perfect.”

Well. That wasn’t supposed to come out.

“It’s a good thing you’re able to appreciate my lifesaving qualities that much.” Paul sets the food down on the little table but keeps the medical supplies.

“Believe me or not, but part of me may still be hopeful for a good ending,” Hugh quips back, but his heart isn’t fully in it. The pain is flaring back up now that he’s awake, and Paul will probably want to take a look at the wound. “You here to patch me up or to feed me, Doctor Paul?”

“You only got hurt a little bit, but of course I’ll feed you if you want me to. May I?” He gives the blanket a little tug.

Hugh allows it with a nod and lets his face fall back into the pillows. There’s the snap of gloves being put on, and he has to wince a little as Paul pulls the bandage off.

“How does it look?”

“Um. Good?”

“Don’t try that with me.”

“Okay. It… looks like a fish bit you. In the ass. With very sharp teeth.”

“Mhm.”

“The whole site is reddened, um, the stitches let some blood through but overall they’re holding, but…” There’s a little prod and… yeah, okay, fuck, that hurts.

Hugh buries his hiss of pain in the pillow and tries not to tense up too noticably.

“Does that hurt?”

“ _Yeah_ , it hurts.”

“Okay. It’s, um, it looks kind of - it’s more swollen than the other area, and it’s looking kind of white-ish or yellow-ish? Does that mean it’s getting infected?”

Oh, god.

“Um, can you show me a picture?”

“One moment.”

There’s the snap of gloves again, the clatter of Paul taking the camera from the table.

“It’s not pretty,” he says by ways of explanation as he hands Hugh the camera.

Yeah, it’s not. Paul’s stitches are relatively straight and neat, but the suture are red and puffy and leaking ichor, some sections crusty with dried blood, and, yeah, just like Paul said, a distinctly yellow-white area.

And a thick red stripe that seems to be going down his thigh. Lymphangitis. Great.

“Paul, how far does that red stripe go?”

“Uh, there’s a little incision above your knee as well, and I think it’s originating from there.”

“Did you patch the incision?”

“I - it looked clean? Absolutely not as bad as the wound on your - the big wound.”

Later, Hugh’ll remember that Paul was too cute to say ’ass’. Now he has other concerns.

“So you didn’t do anything with it?”

“I put a little bandage on it, even though it wasn’t really bleeding. I mean, I did the same with your foot, and -“

It wouldn’t be fair to bash Paul’s head in, Hugh reminds himself. The guy has no idea what he’s doing, and it’s not like Hugh instructed him.

“Okay. Open the bandages around those areas as well. Clean them, keep a photodocumentary, rebandage them. And… get me some antibiotics.”

“Alright.” 

Great. Paul sounds hurt again.

“It’s not your fault,” he says, voice gentler this time. “I - you’ve learned so much, I expect you to act like a doctor. It’s not your fault if you don’t, I just expect too much.”

“I’m trying.”

“I know you are, and that’s amazing, and - and it’s more than I should expect. It’s just like - sometimes I remember you’re technically not human, and I’m surprised every time. Sorry, that was probably offensive.”

“’Technically’?”

“Well… you’re more human than a lot of them. Lorca, for example.”

Paul stifles the tiniest giggle. “Does he _know_ you have such a low opinion of him?”

“I hope so. I hope he knows that the second I don’t have to follow his orders anymore he’ll have to invent in a very stab-proof vest.”

“You’d kill him?”

“Well… not really, but… you know, part of me would like to. Just to teach him a lesson.”

“Is he that bad?”

Hugh suddenly realizes that Paul must’ve used a local anaesthetic again because he can only feel the barest proddings on his butt. Sweet of him.

“You’ve met him.”

“Sure, but I mean as a person. Maybe the war took the good parts of him and twisted him into something bad.”

Hugh snorts. “Nope, he’s been bad all along. Or at least he went to a level of bad where I truly can’t see the good anymore. I never thought that there were truly bad people in the world, but Lorca makes me want to rethink.”

“And how about Landry?”

“Landry is…” Hugh considers the way Paul drew his e’s on the note he left earlier. “She’s a soldier. Made for war, and made for being a dick about it. She’s got very high standards, she’s elite army trained, and all these other people who are, you know, time soldiers and security guards and club bouncers, they were never prepared for all of this. They’re prepared to knock someone out with a stun gun or get into a bar brawl; they’re not prepared for… for this, for keeping discipline month after miserable month, for death and dying and pain and hurt and misery. They’re scared, and they don’t know how to cope, but all around them they see - they see Landrys and Lorcas and even Michaels standing at parade rest with blank faces, and they think they’ll be - I think they’re afraid of looking weak.”

“And you?”

“Me? If I look weak, I don’t think any of them would be - it’d be bad for morale. Doctors don’t get to have emotions in these situations.”

Paul smoothes the bandage shut over Hugh’s butt and moves lower, and earlier Hugh would’ve liked that turn of events, but he can feel his body being weak and in pain, fighting off what might easily turn into a sepsis.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I chose this job.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m an optimist who wants to help people, and who wants to give them a shoulder to cry on, if needed. Because I want to improve lives.”

“Do you regret it?”

“At the moment? Sure.”

“Oh.”

Hugh turns around to eye Paul. “Not the answer you expected? Look, I’m not… today wasn’t a good day. With the whole thing with… with Collins, and then, well, then I got bitten in the ass and almost died. Which - by the way, I should probably get downstairs for some regen action sometime soon. Would you be up to help me?”

 

 

 

Paul does, and he helps Hugh prop himself up on some pillows so he can eat, and he gets Hugh the requested antibiotics, glares at him when he asks Paul to keep the regen on longer (even though Paul concedes when Hugh argues that he’ll have to be able to walk around and pretend he’s fine), and later Hugh accidentally takes another nap.

 

 

 

He wakes up with Paul nudging him urgently this time.

“Hugh. Hugh! There’s something wrong!”

Yeah, there’s something wrong in how Hugh _hurts_ and he knows he should not be lying on his cracked ribs and he twisted his neck and his wound is throbbing with pain.

He hums at Paul, trying to blink his eyes open and mostly failing. So this is the crash people feel after getting hurt badly.

“Something is happening outside. Hugh, please.” Paul’s voice is low and intense and Hugh does not like that at all. He doesn’t want to have to pay attention. “Hugh!”

“What?”

“Can you get up?”

Not like he has much of a chance when Paul practically picks him up and puts him on his feet, hurrying him to put on clothes and then makes him walk to the doors just in time to see the sky flash with blinding light.


	17. XVI.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sO as it turns out that sticking to an update schedule is something for supernatural beings only... i'd say i'm sorry but i doubt it'd sound believable at this point, so... yeahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh  
> i'll try to get back into updating regularly, but for the time being just turn on notifs for this fic and hope for the best :$
> 
> but here, have this chapter! it includes fun things like butt touching, hugh going to Dark Places, mentions of torture, lorca being lorca, hugh surprisingly not having a massive panic attack (yet), and a handful of plot  
> enjoy!

There’s barely any time to prepare for the shockwave that follows, or the way the ground shakes. Hugh holds on to Paul, gripping tightly, unsteady on his feet, still blinded, and fears for his life. Just deep, primal terror seeping into his bones, cold and hot and possessive.

Then it’s over, and he can open his eyes just in time for the huge cloud of dust billowing towards them, and he closes his eyes, but the next flash couldn’t be missed anyways.

It feels like the world is ending.

The next shockwave makes Hugh stumble to the side and his shoulder falls into the deliciously cool brick wall, grounding him, allowing him to slide down on it and curl up while the earth still shakes and shudders and spews dust. Paul is next to him, holding on to him, possibly saying something, but he can’t listen, can’t hear anything except the pounding of his heart and the shaking of his bones.

 

 

 

The ground calms again. Hugh breathes again and promptly coughs out a cloud of dust.

“Are you okay?!” Paul’s fingers dig sharply into Hugh’s shoulder, but he can barely see him through the yellow dust permeating the air.

There’s the familiar sound of first one, then two, then four, then many, many more of their planes taking to the air. The wall is stable against Hugh’s back, rooting him.

He wants to stay here.

Instead, he forces himself to cough again, trying to wrack up some spit to moisten the inside of his mouth and get rid of the dry dust cloning to his endothel, and then he readies his knees to get him back on his feet.

They’re shaking, of course. But he stands.

“Hugh?”

“We have to get ready. Whatever this is, whatever happened, if Lorca sends out that many planes, the Klingons are involved and we’ll be knee-deep in blood in an hour. Maybe less.”

Paul follows him back inside.

“Hugh, you’re bleeding again,” he says softly. “Shouldn’t you- don’t we need to-“

“We can’t waste any material on me.”It feels good to say that. Selfless. Like it’ll really help all those who’ll die in the hours to come.

“None of them stand any chance of survival if you bleed out. Let me bandage you.”

“Paul -“

“You’re 0 negative. If you bleed out, I doubt there’s much blood here we can use to top you up with.”

“Some isotonic NaCl solution and 0 erythrocytes and I’ll be good to go.”

Paul snorts. “No, not happening. Let me take a look.”

“You just want to look at my ass.” Wow, jokes? He must be even less sensitive than he thought. That’s what war does, then.

“Would you work out as much as you do if you didn’t want people to look?”

“That’s not how it works.” Hugh leans against the desk in his office and tries to glare at Paul but - fuck, yeah, leaning is decidedly not happening. Fucking ow!

“Then tell me how it works while I treat you.”

There isn’t much room for argument in Paul’s tone, so hugh begrudgingly turns around and... well, and takes his pants off. And his underwear. Welp.

Both fabrics are damp with blood and stick to his thighs, and there’s still shock reverberating in Hugh’s bones, so Paul getting on his knees after grabbing some stuff is a whole lot less erotic that he would’ve imagined just days ago.

“Nobody belongs to anyone else. Your body is yours, and whatever you do with it is your decision. I work out because it feels good, because it’s good for my mental health, because I like the way I look in the mirror. Because I have a hereditary heart disease in my family and staying fit and eating well means I have a better chance of not getting it, or only getting it less severely. Because I - heh, I guess also because I - I have an easier time picking people up looking the way I do.”

“Of course. You have trained your muscles enough to be able to carry heavier weights.”

“Oh! No, I meant... in the sex way. You know.”

“I... don’t think I do.”

“Some people prefer, uh, physically fit people to sleep with.”

“I see. Why?”

Hugh tries to mask his grimace with a chuckle. “Uh, beats me. I prefer people who are... you know. Soft.”

“I don’t ‘know’, but I understand what you mean.”

“Yeah. Ouch!”

“Sorry. So, what’s it like?”

“What’s what like?”

“Sex.”

Oh. Oh! Oh god. So Paul wants to have the talk while they can still hear explosions and planes and all kind of war noises.

“Um, let’s... let’s reschedule that talk to another time when there are no... you know, when there won’t be people bleeding out over me in ten minutes.”

“Oh, okay.”

Paul finishes him up in silence, then helps him get his pants back on, and, right, Hugh is supposed to be scared or freaking out, not... not missing the gentle touch of Paul’s hands.

 

 

 

The injured come, and the injured stay, and a few very lucky - or especially unlucky - can go back out immediately, and Hugh knows he’s grown cold and unfeeling and numb when he goes through the motions, delivering his pleasantries and stitching g sounds and bandaging and giving infusions and setting bones and ordering bed rest and distributing meds, keeping his eyes kind and hollow while Paul looks more and more drawn, smile forced where Hugh’s is practiced.

They don’t die, surprisingly, they keep coming and they keep bringing injuries and running blood and grotesquely twisted extremities and even one eye that’ll probably remain lost, but the pulse meters and oxys and pressure cuffs keep beeping happily, calmly amidst the storm around them.

And there they are, lying in rows, diagnosis upon diagnosis, prognoses about healing, not a single one of them human anymore; a leg and an arm and a thorax and brides and broken bones, faces bright with praise and high on medication and Hugh can’t look them into their eyes. He’s supposed to be human, be their light in the darkness, their angel in white, their grand savior, crutch and friend and supporter, and here he is, unable to even see their humanity anymore, now that he lost his.

 

 

 

He desperately doesn’t want to remember a single moment of this evening, and the following night, and the sunrise; the air constantly punctuated by explosions, Hugh’s hands and uniform stained red and redder, and maybe the Klingons are already only meters from the doors, Hugh’s own injuries throbbing and tugging and pulling, but what can he do but carry on? There’s no use in hoping or wishing, anyways. Either they’ll make it through this fight, or they won’t, and the Klingons won’t find use for a human doctor anyways.

Michael gets injured, and Tyler gets injured, and Owosekun and Riley and Evans and Detmer might lose her eye and Cohen is babbling about sea monsters and as long as Hugh keeps his smile superficial he won’t get scared, won’t feel with them.

 

 

 

Lorca shows up eventually, because Lorca always shows up, jerking his head towards Hugh’s office, already assuming Hugh will follow.

So he wants to talk. With that dangerous, nasty look on his face, like he knows perfectly well he’s the one responsible for all this.

“I knew you were going to do good work out here, Culber.”

One day, when Hugh isn’t numb and overstimulated and tired and desperate and hurting, he’ll break Lorca’s nose.

“And you’ll be glad to hear you’ll get a chance to practise some alternative medicine.”

“I have no idea about homeopathy.”

“Oh, no, none of that. Landry has captured me some Klingons, and I want you to make them talk.”

Of course Landry did. Landry would go to hell and back for Lorca, either out of pure desire to obey orders, or to stay on Lorca’s good side, reap some benefits.

“I’m not a torturer.”

“And I didn’t ask you to torture anyone. But you are able to synthesize that stuff they found that makes Klingons talk.”

Right. The fucking ’truth serum’, how the military called it. Of course not the biggest humanitarian crime of this war, but still.

Something angry rears its head in Hugh’s chest.

“I am. But I won’t.”

His spine straightens on its own. He’s still shorter than Lorca by about a handbreadth, but he’s not going to back down on this.

“This is hardly a democracy.”

“It’s a crime against life!”

“I wasn’t asking you.”

“Well, I refuse anyways.”

“It could end the war. If you make them talk, we could be on our way home in a month.”

Lorca is lying. He has to be lying. There’s no way he could not be lying… unless he’s right and they could be going home.

“They would hail you as a hero.”

Lorca has never opened his mouth and been completely truthful.

“I’m sure your family would be so proud. Of course you wouldn’t have to burden them with the specifics.”

His mom would hug him. His dads would hug him. His sisters would hug him.

“The camp would be grateful, too. It’s not like anyone here is really enjoying themselves.”

Every single time any of the soldiers have mentioned going home comes rushing back to Hugh.

“And you’re right, of course. Torture would be inhumane, and I would never ask that of you. This, however… it doesn’t hurt. The prisoners will be treated with mercy, and once the war is over and a treaty has been signed, they’ll go back to their families, and we to ours.”

Hugh swallows and clenches his teeth and tries not to agree.

“I know it’s not an easy task, but in this case, it’s for the greater good. You’ll save more lives than I could possibly imagine.”

Fuck.

“Fine,” Hugh gives in. “But they won’t be tortured. They’ll be treated humanely.”

“Of course. They’re in the holding cells. Once you’re done here, just head over. I think you can leave the android in charge.”

 

 

 

Six hours later and Hugh is curled up on his bed, on his good side, staring at the bathroom door. 

He went to therapy for the better part of his life, so during bad times there’s usually at least one therapist’s voice coming up to make things better, to make him feel less alone, another funny way the human brain tries to protect himself.

This time, there are no memories of any of them because there are too many of the other ones. The recent ones. Where Hugh betrayed his entire craft, the oath he took, and caused pain.

He closes his eyes and ignores the horrid feeling in his gut, the bile in the back of his throat, the burning tears, and thinks of home. If the Klingo- if Lorca was right, then they’ll go home and it’ll all be over, no more than a bad dream.

And if Lorca was wrong, well, what does it matter? None of them were able to get out of the war with their humanity intact, anyways, and what good is priding yourself on that if you then turn around and - and - 

And are complicit in a torture.

 

 

 

He doesn’t really fall asleep, but he also doesn’t remember Tilly coming in, but suddenly there’s a hand stroking his face, his neck, someone sitting close to him, offering comfort without words, and he smells her self-made perfume. Her hands are cool and welcome against how hot and unwell he feels, and he goes back to unconsciousness.

Next there are soft voices, talking very far away in hushed whispers, Tilly’s hand still on his neck. Some words and phrases repeat and loop and loop and loop around Hugh’s head until he’s sick with them, cotton and what feels like lava bubbling through him.

His head hurts and he’s hot all over and his injury hurts, pain along what feels like his entire body, but he’s too heavy to float away again, so eventually he tunes into the conversation.

“…burning up.”

“Do you know what Lorca did with him?”

Lorca. Hugh has heard that name before.

“No.”

“He can’t go out like this.”

“… doctor …”

Yeah, Hugh is a doctor, that’s true.

“We need him.”

Tilly scratches his neck a bit, just below his hairline, the way she knows feels amazing, and Hugh zones out for a while.

“… to bring his fever down.”

Do they mean him? Is he feverish?

“An antiinflammant? Is that what they’re called?”

It’s a medication, Hugh wants to tell them. Something to… to do something, even though he can’t remember what. His head is very sluggish, and he’s thirsty. There’s an odd vision of a cow being forbidden to produce milk, even though he’s so thirsty, and then someone flaps back the blanket over Hugh, puts a deliciously cool hand on his burning flesh.

“He’s very hot.”

Oh, so that’s Paul! But there’s so much worry in his voice, and Hugh wants to tell him not to worry, because it’ll all be fine as long as Paul is here, tugging at his pants, and that’s nice, that’s really nice, because he really likes Paul, because he’s pretty and nice and smart and cute and has gentle hands and is curious and he’s been touching Hugh’s ass a lot.

“What happened?” Tilly.

“I didn’t protect him.”

No. No, Hugh wants to say, no, that’s not true. Paul protected him, Paul saved his life from the horrors of the deep, Paul is beautiful when he smiles.

He zones out again while Paul talks about what happened, mentioning fish and water and blood, blood, blood. And then suddenly there’s the sharp pain of a bandage being pulled off, and Tilly swears softly.

“That looks bad!”

She should pet Hugh more, that’s really what’s amiss here.

“I think I’m doing something wrong. It’s - Hugh said it might be lymphangitis. But he didn’t explain what it is, or what to do other than take antibiotics.”

“I don’t think he’s up to swallowing any pills. Did he take some though?”

“Yes, but I don’t think they helped.”

Hugh snuggles back into Tilly’s thigh and ignores what else happens.

His wound gets treated, he recognizes that much, and then there’s a cool wet pressure on his lips, moistening them, and always Tilly’s hand on his skin, grounding him somewhere in the vastness of near-unconsciousness.

 

 

There are instances where they make him drink, where he floats back enough to hear voices, sometimes even with sentences he can make out before falling back into unconsciousness.

Sometimes he sleeps, and that’s when the dreams come - of Collins, of his nurse bleeding out in his arms, of the children, of the guttural, pained Klingon screams as Hugh forces syringe after syringe of what Lorca had promised to act a painless serum of truth for their physiology into their bloodstream. They too had died, just like everyone else Hugh ever touched, ever came close to, hands killing and killing and killing with just a touch, and who knows who’ll be next, Tilly and Michael and Paul right within reach of that curse Hugh bestows upon everyone.

He must’ve made enough sound eventually for someone to wake him up with hushed, gentle words, and his throat is too dry to do much but babble incohorently.

“Shhh, Hugh, it’s okay, just relax.”

That’s Paul’s voice, and he’s close to him.

Hugh presses his head into a soft thigh and tries to think. He needs something. His clothes are sticking to him, wet with sweat.

“Water,” he rasps.

Pale fingers nudge a straw against his lips and he sucks gratefully.

“Watch out. Don’t choke yourself.”

Hugh is really thirsty, but Paul takes the drink away from him faster than he’d like.

“Please.”

“Not so much at once. You’ll upset your stomach. How are you feeling?”

Hugh’s head is cotton and heat and sweat and a bad taste in his mouth.

“What happened?”

“You got really feverish after the battle, and we - Tilly and I, we were really worried. Your temperature has gone down now though, and you should be feeling a little better. At least you’re conscious again.”

Hugh unwillingly remembers the patients downstairs, all the injuries he should be treating. And his own, too. It’s not really doing anything at the moment, especially not hurting, so at least that’s something.

“How is your wound?” Paul asks.

“Better, I think. Doesn’t hurt at the moment.”

“Let me take a look?”

Hugh shrugs, and then there the blanket moves off him and Paul’s fingers tug at the waistband of his pants yet again.

“What day is it?”

Heh. Making conversation while Paul’s fingers are once again on his ass. Whatever has his life come to?

“The battle was three days ago. Nothing much happened. Tilly and Saru helped me keep the medbay running, and we… we’ve been doing our best.”

Oh no. Hugh knows that tone of voice; he’s heard it enough with all the young doctors he tutored over the years. It’s hollow and scared and guilty.

“How many?”

Paul sighs wetly and his fingers still at the corner of the bandage tape.

“This is going to hurt a little.”

“Paul. How many?”

“We brought a handheld regen unit up here, so we were able to regen you here, and your wound has healed nicely.”

Hugh barely winces as Paul pulls off the bandage. Apparently, all the small hairs on his skin have already been thoroughly ripped out.

“It looks good!” Oh god, the fake lightness in Paul’s voice is so painful. “Really! Would you like to see a photo?”

“Fine.”

Okay, so Paul is right - the wound looks much, much better, and really, Hugh would take out the sutures now.

“We’ve considered taking the sutures out, but we wanted to ask you… since you know better and… you know, are an actual doctor.”

“How about Saru?”

“Lorca could just spare him and he didn’t faint at the sight of injuries like… like most of the others that we tried.”

A rare act of humanity from their monstrous leader. And pretty surprising that Saru can actually stand the sight of blood and injury, since he probably can’t even go into a club out of fear from the bouncers.

“Okay. Interesting. But yeah, you can take the sutures out.”

“Right. I’ll go get a local anaesthetic.”

Hugh manages to catch Paul’s arm. “You don’t need to. It should be almost painless, unless you’re way too rough. Get D grade scissors, a forceps that’s not too pointy, some gentle antiseptic and a new bandage.”

Paul goes, and Hugh is alone. He shuffles around a little to curl up on his side, injures muscles straining incredibly easily, but he definitely isn’t in pain anymore, and the hot and unwell feeling from the fever is almost a welcome exchange.

Also, he really needs to pee. And normally he’d rip his patients a new one for getting up for the first time without supervision, but he’s not going to ask anyone to escort him to the bathroom.

Getting up turns out to use a lot of muscles, and his ass doesn’t necessarily like being sat on, head complaining about wooziness and the world spinning too, but he’ll take it slow.

Okay, maybe this has been a bad idea because he definitely needs to sit down on the toilet, and he’s sweating like he just worked out.

Paul is already back from his errand, glaring at Hugh and immediately jumps to his side, steadying him.

“First time getting up after an injury... shouldn’t you have let me accompany you?”

“Sorry? I did really need to go to the bathroom though.”

“So that’s what they mean when they say that doctors are bad patients.”

Paul helps Hugh sit down, far more handsy than he’s ever been, but there’s worry bright in his eyes, and it warms Hugh’s heart. “Let me take a look.”

 

 

 

Taking the sutures out pinces and tugs and occasionally sends little stabs of hurt over Hugh’s superficial afferent neurons.

Afterwards, Paul lets him sit up, brings him food and more water, frets about Hugh taking a shower and eventually insists on helping Hugh with a catlick, so Hugh has to suffer through yet more of Paul’s hands on his body.

Part of his medical training were several work experiences, including five months of nursing, and during that he’s done a fair lot of catlicks with all the bedbound patients. And of course that was... clinical. Detached. He didn’t know those people.

Paul knows him. He knows Paul. Paul’s touches are nowhere near clinical. His hands spread out, taking their time dragging the washcloth over Hugh’s skin, rubbing gentle circles and going ever so slowly. Their fingers touch for way too long (way too short) when Paul hands him the cloth, their eyes meet and Hugh’s heart is beating in his throat, and then Paul looks away again, cheeks pinking ever so slightly.

Afterwards, Hugh does feel better - clean skin and clearer head - but he’s still far too aware of every sensory input, fingers a bit shaky and feeling flushed, like a Victorian girl after a dance with the guy she’s into.

Pathetic

Paul makes him put on clean clothes and changes the bedsheets and makes him drink more water and then tucks him back into bed. 

There’s a sudden relief at finally lying on his back again, and Hugh is exhausted enough by all this activity that he just snuggles up and closes his eyes halfway.

“So… the battle?”

“We won. But… Hugh, I don’t want to upset you. Never upset someone who’s in recovery from a serious injury. You told me that.”

“Like it will be any less upsetting if I lie here fretting and wondering and worrying.”

Paul sits down on the edge of Hugh’s bed again, avoiding his eyes.

“Hugh… I know you have anxiety, so…”

“So it’s not going to help me if you don’t tell me.”

“They broke off the isthmus at our side. Behind us, basically. Between us and the mainland we came from.”

Hugh feels like he was punched in the gut.

“And they somehow generated an artificial maelstrom in the new connecting strait. The only way back to the mainland is by air.”

“But you can’t fly through the mountains! They’re too high, the winds are too difficult -!”

“Yeah. Hugh -“ Paul takes his hand between his, suddenly looking at Hugh, eyes intense and blue. “It’ll be fine. I promise. It’ll all be fine. We’ll find a way to fix this, okay? Sleep, Hugh. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

 

 

 

And it’s a good thing too that Paul is there, because it seems like Hugh’s brain thinks his body is recovered enough to have a neat panic attack after waking up. Paul ends up having to force Hugh into the recovery position with his head between his knees, rubbing his neck and reminding him to breathe.

Also pathetic.

 

 

 

“You’re all better then.”

It’s a statement, not a question, because Lorca orders you to be okay, doesn’t ask.

At least Hugh can sit up, probably stand up, and if you can stand, you can work.

“Want to tell me what the fuck happened?”

“I went for a swim, got attacked by a… some sort of fish. Pa- the android pulled me out.”

“Right. Weren’t you supposed to be at your post though, doctor?”

“I just… needed some air after Collins, after he died.”

“About that. How _did_ he die?”

“From severe cerebral damage.”

“Hm. Can you expound on that?” Lorca crosses his arms, leans against the wall, eyes never leaving Hugh.

“Something bashed his head in so much that his brain got injured and he died. It just took him a while.”

“And you’re sure that’s what happened?”

“I am.”

“Good. Meet me in command in ten minutes.”

 

 

Hugh’s fingers feel sluggish as he closes his uniform, and with a painful pang he realizes he’s really, truly scared now, the kind of fear that makes him want to hide instead of square up, even though maybe that’s just the fever that’s still simmering away.

Paul catches him just outside his room.

“Hugh, we need you down here. I don’t know - well, none of us really know -“

“I know. I’ll - I’ve got to head to command, but I’ll be right with you after.”

“Thank you.” Paul still holds on to his arm. “Hugh, did he… was he angry?”

“Not with you. He just… I think he thinks I killed Collins. Which I did, but… since it’s not allowed, technically - well.”

Paul squeezes his arm and gives him a slight smile. “For what it’s worth… I think you did the right thing.”

 

 

 

Lorca evidently doesn’t think so, and while he doesn’t say it outright that Hugh killed Collins, he drops enough sub clauses to make Hugh’s stomach churn.

He’s happy when he can return to his medbay and take control there. Paul and Tilly and Saru did as good a job as they could, so Hugh does his best to hide his, well, horror at some of the more... say... ‘creative’ ideas they had to treat their patients. Luckily there’s no damage done that Hugh will be completely unable to fix. Hopefully.

Also, his office is an absolute mess.

 

 

 

There’s a surprising amount of loneliness in going to bed without Paul’s watchful eyes on him. Hugh crawls under the blanket, curls up in his favorite position, and then he... waits.

Sleep is when the body rests and the mind gets to process what happened.

Hugh rolls onto his other side.

Logically, his brain has a _lot_ it should want to process.

Hugh rolls onto his back.

Sometimes the brain is so chock-full of experiences and emotions that it’s so agitated that you _can’t_ sleep though.

Hugh rolls onto his front.

His mind is blank. He’s wide awake. It feels terrifyingly much like boredom rather than... whatever else he ought to be feeling. Not even shock numb, more like he doesn’t even care.

There was a guy like that in med school who just didn’t care. Insensitive and trivializing patients’ ails, dismissive and downright rude on occasion. Hugh had always feared becoming like him. 

And now he’s here, staring at a small fissure in the wall like the past few days (or the parts of them that he was awake during) don’t affect him at all. People dying and suffering and the crushing, crippling inability to help them, and it’s turned into just another day on the job, where he can walk away afterwards.

Hugh rolls onto his favorite side again.

They should revoke his medical license for not feeling anymore. What’s worse than a doctor who just doesn’t care? Nothing much, that’s for sure.

 

 

 

Paul wakes him with the gentlest hand on his shoulder. It’s more of a coming-to, curled halfway around Paul, face close to his thigh like he’s looking for comfort, like a child (comfort for a man who doesn’t deserve it, and yet Paul gives it to him, doesn’t pull away in disgust).

He slept dreamlessly, too, again like he didn’t care. Back when he did, there used to be nightmares. What does it say when now he doesn’t dream at all anymore?

There’s a haze around things now, like everything is coming to him through cotton. He’s warm - the thermometer says he’s still a bit too warm, so he takes it easy. 

Or maybe he doesn’t and just doesn’t realize. 

Orders are to discharge as many as quickly as he can, and Hugh can follow orders, and so he does. There’s a war to win, after all.

Also, the supply storage looks more like a storage for empty cardboard boxes instead of much else. When he has a few minutes to spare, he cuts them up and folds them up and stacks them up and takes them out.

He comes back to practically nothing left. Some bandages. Miles and miles of surgical thread, but only a handful of packets of sterile sewing equipment. More EEG electrodes than he can count, a good amount of plastic syringes, but next to no needles. And he doesn’t even want to start on the meds.

Of course he has to, and the result is… sparse.

So he’s back in Lorca’s office far too soon after the last time.

Lorca is working on a wide variety of maps and blueprints and whatever else the PADDs display, occasionally sipping on what smells like actual, real coffee from coffee grounds, and overall he’s doing a great job on pretending to be busy when he actually isn’t and just wants to ignore Hugh.

Joke’s on him, because Hugh spent enough time bargaining with the secretary at his middle sister’s workplace to be let through to her, so he knows the spiel.

“Captain, we have a problem that’ll likely endanger all our lives. I understand that it would help the war effort if we could figrue out a way to remove the problem.”

There’s so much controlled annoyance in the way Lorca lifts his head and tightens the corners of his mouth that it would be funny if the challenge in Hugh’s voice hadn’t been so clear that it also pissed Lorca off, and a pissed off Lorca is all kinds of bad.

“Go ahead.”

“We’re practically completely out of medical supplies.”

There’s a slight twitch on Lorca’s face. If he had said anything, it would probably have been a very deadpan, ’that’s unfortunate’.

“What do you expect me to do about it?”

“I don’t know, _sir_. But I guess it’s your problem. The next person who gets injured, I might not be able to sew up their wound, or give them enough medication to stave off the pain, or an infection.”

“So?”

“So, I need supplies!”

“I suppose you haven’t seen the newest data of the terrain yet, then?”

Lorca doesn’t wait for Hugh to affirm; instead he moves over to the big screen and pulls up an arial view of Isthmus. Or what used to be Isthmus.

“We’re a damn peninsula now,” Lorca says, side-eyeing Hugh oddly. “With an artificial maelstrom on our mainland’s side, of course. Those damn Klingons. Are you still so sure we should be merciful too?”

On the map, the maelstrom is animated, swirling happily like water being let out of a tub.

“Take your bot and head over there in a dirt car, tell me what you think I should do about it other than build a fucking bridge.”

“I need those supplies. _We_ need them. The next injured person that I’m unable to treat could be you.”

“I’ll put a call through to command, but they could take weeks to get here. If they do make it.” 

Lorca stares at him.

Oh. Oh, fuck. He’s planning something.

“But Burnham and Tyler did tell me the wrecks in the mountains aren’t as useless as you’d think.” A little smirk curls at Lorca’s mouth. “You, Burnham, Tyler, …Tilly, too, Landry and her men, I want you to go on a mission to salvage what you can from the wrecks. Burnham and Tyler know where to look, Tilly knows what tech to take, and Landry knows how to use a gun, so…”

Right.

“What about Pau- the android?”

“Oh, he comes with you, obviously. Can’t have you dying without bringing back the supplies.”

“And who’s going to manage my medbay?”

“Saru. He’s been doing just fine so far. You haven’t had any complaints about DeMoniers and Paige, either, so they can pull doubles, help out as well.”

Hugh puts his hands behind his back so Lorca can’t see him clench his fists.

“Is that an order, sir?”

“What did you expect? Command isn’t going to have anyone fly through those mountains for a while.”

“Right. It just seems a little excessive to send so many people. And to send me, too.”

“Are you afraid?”

“About people in camp dying because I’m not there to take care of them, yes.”

Lorca takes a step towards Hugh. He isn’t taller than Hugh by a lot, but it’s an inch or two more that he has, and he owns up to it.

“Will they stop dying if you’re here with only your hands to keep their guts inside their bodies?”

“No, sir. But -“

“Then mount that damn operation. Landry will be in charge, and I suggest you talk to Burnham and Tyler and get an itinerary together. You leave in two days.”

Hugh swallows whatever angry outburst wants to come out and tries to relax his posture a little.

“Questions?”

“No, sir.”

“Good. Get out.”

Hugh spins on his heels, barely keeps his steps measured in an attempt to control the horrible shaking in his chest, and leaves. The door closes and he’s in the main office where Detmer seems to be working on something. No doubt Lorca will have to ration food more now, and who knows what they’ll even be able to take on their expedition. Probably nothing but nutri bars.

Detmer doesn’t notice him, and Hugh’s eyes fall on the comm panel. He remembers the conversation with Paul, about sneaking past Detmer and Saru and Lorca and somehow calling his mom, and his heart hurts.

Instead, he stuffs his hands into his pockets and swallows down on his homesickness, tries not to focus on the terror of going out _there_ , ignores the slowly flaring pain in his ass, and walks back to the medbay.

 

 

 

 

“He wants us to do _what_?!”

Predictably, Tilly is outraged. Michael is more subdued, and by the dark circles under her eyes Hugh assumes she’s been sleeping badly again. Which is probably also why she’s leaning on Tilly’s shoulder, eyes half closed, with an unhappy set in her jaw.

“It’s going to be fine, Tilly.” Her voice is subdued too. “We’ll be protected.”

No, they won’t be. Not enough. One larger number of Klingons and they’re done for.

“That means we might be able to go to the monolith!” Paul exclaims. “Hugh -“

“No. We’re not going there. We’re going to scavenge the wrecks, and then we’re going to come back here. I can’t leave the camp unattended for this long.”

“The monolith is -“

“ _Not_ as important as the survival of the camp. Paul, please.”

“Am I the only one who’d prefer not going?” Tyler’s slightly self-depreciating smile is not lost on Hugh.

Tilly stretches her hand out to grasp his.

“I’ve got an idea for a route that will probably be quickest,” Michael says expressionlessly. “I’ll draw it out tomorrow. It won’t be the safest, but… what really is safe, up there?”

“We’ll be fine,” Tilly insists, and takes Michael’s hand as well. “I mean, we will have Paul protecting us too. It’s a dick move from Lorca, but… we’ll be fine. We got this.” She tugs Tyler closer as well, and he tentatively folds himself to lie on her shoulder as well.

The three of them are again taking up Hugh’s bed, with him and Paul on the chairs, and he can’t help but feel a little lonely.

“And we’ll have Hugh,” Paul says, and then he reaches over to curl his fingers into Hugh’s. “We’ll have supplies, so even if we get injured, he’ll be able to help us.” He sounds confident, but maybe he’s only faking it. But his grip is steady and secure and warm and it’s the only thing that keeps Hugh’s anxiety contained. “We’ll be fine. As long as we stick together, we’ll be fine.”

And as long as they don’t meet any more of this hellworld’s creatures.


	18. XVII.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this bitch is back :D

Paul’s hand is also wrapped around Hugh’s while Michael draws them up an itinerary. The wrecks are geomarked, of course, but Michael knows the terrain, at least better than the map, so she’s relatively sure the route will be traversible.

Hugh watches her work, trying to keep the worry and dread from creeping in. He prefers numbness, but he doesn’t seem to have a chance. He’d hoped the panic would be numbed, maybe forever.

Michael’s hands shake. Hugh wishes they could find a true fearless leader somewhere, because he can’t watch this.

Eventually Landry shows up to give her input on the route. Hugh can’t watch that either, and tunes them out.

 

 

 

After he’s finished his rounds, then, and his now very sparse looking office / supply space are looking as tidy as ever and Lorca’s words from a day ago haven’t stopped surfacing over and over again, he takes Paul aside.

“Lorca said I should take you out to see the maelstrom.” The words sound blunt even to him, his tongue thick and uncoordinated in his mouth and whatever he wanted to say somehow not forming in the Broca center of speech in his cotton-filled brain.

“Okay.” Paul’s eyes are bright and he smiles at Hugh. “If you want to, we could take some food with us, because you need to eat something anyways. I’ll get it.”

Something suddenly connects in Hugh’s brain and he can feel himself coming alive.

“It’s a date,” he says, slapping Paul’s shoulder. “I’ll get a cart and something to sit on.”

 

 

 

Paul looks very happy with the wind in his hair as they’re driving away from camp. Hugh even went the extra mile and informed Lorca (or informed Detmer, who’ll probably inform Lorca) that he’s taking Paul to the maelstrom, “as ordered” - because really, Lorca _did_ order that, and he doesn’t have to know that Hugh is using it as a vacation rather than a learning experience.

“Where did you learn to drive?” Paul asks suddenly, after Hugh had finally managed to speed the cart up to its maximum speed, a snail-esque 55 kph.

Hugh laughs. “Um, they teach it in schools nowadays. Eleventh grade. It’s mandatory, I think. Why?”

“Nothing, I just…” Paul fidgets a little. “What’s it like to grow up?”

“What?”

“What’s it like? Being a kid, and then a, a juvenile, an adult? I never - obviously I didn’t grow up, so… what is it like?”

“I don’t remember much of it, to be honest. Um…”

“Tell me?”

Paul’s eyes are blue and imploring and Hugh can’t really say no to that, can he?

“Um, I, I’m the second oldest. I’ve got an older sister and two younger ones. My parents - my mom and my dads - have a house in the suburbs, um, my abuela and abuelo lived just down the street, um, and my other dad’s and my mom’s parents live in New York too, even my one aunt and her family. I, I - we used to have to sleep together, in the same room, the four of us, until I was about eight, which is when my parents finally decided to renovate the house and we all got the same rooms. Um… the first thing I remember, ever, is, um, during that renovation, we - we found a little treasure of gold, and -“ He tugs the necklace out of his collar. “Da said that once all of us would choose careers, he’d have the gold melted down into appropriate symbols. So I have a little medical caduceus now.”

Paul leans over to inspect it.

“It’s a symbol of medicine?”

“Yeah. It’s, um, technically it’s misused and means something completely different. It’s from - it’s Hermes’ staff of, um, commerce or something. I think. Honestly, I don’t know. I was trying to pick this guy up once at a party and he kept telling me that and I just wanted to - yeah, well, anyways, it’s possible that the caduceus isn’t actually a sign of medicine in mythology. Doesn’t matter anyways. But yeah, I got this when I started university. My sisters - the older one went into law, always wanted to, always tried to, heh, you know, enforce laws with the rest of us because she was the oldest. The next sister, she became a kindergarten teacher. Loves her job with all the tiny ones. And the youngest one is a wildlife researcher now. She sends the best post cards. Mom always says the rest of us are boring and need to step up our games because Constanza is always sending these beautiful ones of baby animals or sunrises or something.”

“Constanza is your youngest sister?”

“Yeah. The oldest is Linda, and the one immediately after me is Camila.”

“They all sound very different from Hugh. What happened?”

Hugh laughs. “Oh god. So, um, since Linda and Hugh sounded so American and my grandparents got a bit offended, so my parents went searching for more Hispanic sounding names on the internet, and my mom let each of my dads name one kid.”

“You have two dads? That’s weird.”

“Not really? My mom loves both of them, they both love each other and my mom, it works out great. Also we had twice as much of having to ask our mom.”

“What’s that?”

“Oh man. So, when we wanted something, like being driven to practise or help with our homework or pocket money or to be allowed to go over to a friend’s, we’d have to ask our parents, of course. And they’d usually make a game out of teasing us with saying that no, we need to ask another parent. Same thing when we wanted something early in the morning and they weren’t awake yet, and of course we just… had more people watching over us. It was great.”

“What else? What about going to school?”

“Um. Oh god.” Hugh flexes his grip on the steering wheel. “I… don’t remember my first day at school. I just remember that I was in school. I had some friends, some people I didn’t like, some teachers I didn’t like… we’d sometimes hang out after school, at first at each other’s places and when we got older we’d also hang out at different places, go do stuff on the weekends, yeah.”

“But what was it like?”

“I - I don’t know.” Hugh looks over to Paul, trying to figure out what he could be wanting to hear. “I just… it was just the way it was. I know why you want to know, but I don’t know what to tell you.”

“No, it’s okay. I just… it feels like I’m missing something.”

Hugh reaches over and puts his hand on Paul’s, squeezing their fingers together.

“I know what you mean. And of course you’re allowed to ask, I just wish I could tell you more. I wish - I wish you could’ve had all that too, you know?”

“It’s fine. I get it.”

“There’s lots of bad too, though. You get to miss all that, so… there’s that, too.”

“I guess.” Paul gives him that smile again.

“And I mean,” Hugh blathers on, not thinking about what’s coming out of his mouth anymore. “There’s always after the war, too. I mean… we could - if you wanted to - I’ve got a spare room, and I’m sure you could find something you’d like to do in San Fran, you know.”

The smile fades from Paul’s face, turning into an almost-frown of pure scared hope.

“You’d take me in?”

“Sure. Sure, I mean, there are so many things to do, and it would be a shame - I mean, you’re allowed to live, Paul. And… really, who will know you’re an android? Um, I could dig out my mom’s recipes again and you wouldn’t have to eat nutri bars anymore. Though whether my cooking would actually be better than them… I doubt it, but I could try. Or we just keep ordering food. And, I mean, you could get to wear some proper clothes maybe, um, it’s not like I don’t earn any money or anything, and we could go on vacations, see the world, if you wanted to. I might even get tickets to the moon, or Mars, if you ever felt like leaving the planet. Um, I’d introduce you to my parents so they could show you what really good food tastes like, and we could - if you’re into that, we could go to the theatre sometime, or see an opera, or a concert. You know, San Francisco is a big city, so there are so many things to do, and… yeah, if you, if you’re interested in that, well.” Hugh drops his gaze. Paul doesn’t.

“You’d take me to all these places?”

“Yeah, of course. I like you, Paul.” Hugh looks up again, finds Paul’s eyes still trained on him. His throat suddenly feels dry. “And I’d like for you to see all the - all the nice things Earth has to offer too.” Hugh licks his lips. They’re dry too. “And since I’m a little selfish, I thought I’d ask you now so I’ll hopefully be the first person who asks you and you’ll say yes.”

Paul is still looking at him with that painfully hopeful look.

“And I want to be the guy who gets to see your face when you see, I don’t know, the Colosseum, or the Statue of Liberty, or Table Mountain, or the Tokyo Tower. I want to - because I’ve ben around a little, not enough, but… a little, and because I enjoyed that so much, I want you to have the same kind of enjoyment. And… I want to, you know, I want it to be you and me.” Hugh’s voice has steadily dropped, and now he’s close enough to see what in any other android would be the individual LED bulbs that make their eyes. Paul’s irises swirl like another human’s. “I guess I just want to share that enjoyment with you.”

Paul’s breath fans over Hugh’s lips and Hugh’s heart stops a little bit a lot. The wind ruffles Paul’s hair and makes it tickle Hugh’s forehead. 

Hugh bends a little more forward, just a hint. He can practically feel Paul’s lips on his already.

There’s an unholy roar and then the slapping sound of a wet fish on hard ground, amplified by a billion shakes them together with a massive shadow flickering in the edges of Hugh’s vision and brain say slam brake.

Paul flings out his arm to keep Hugh in his seat as the (military grade) brakes kick in while bracing himself against the dashboard.

They stop. 

The world starts up again, the gigantic fish? water snake? alien monster? flopping and slowly sliding down the edge of the artificial cliff leading into water, leaving smears of yellow blood.

Hugh’s heart is now properly pounding in his chest, and, from glancing at Paul, he can tell that Paul is similarly disturbed. He left a dent in the dashboard while bracing himself.

The water in front of them stops what must be just half a meter or less underneath the cliff, occasionally lapping over the sudden edge, because behind the cliff there are waves that could upset probably any ship.

“What the fuck was that?” Hugh asks quietly, still staring at the smears of alien monster blood glistening on the ground.

“It looked like the thing that attacked you in the water,” Paul answers, getting out of the cart.

Hugh joins him but stays a good deal away from the cliff, only just inspecting the furthest smears of blood.

“I don’t think I want to picnic here anymore,” he says weakly. “This is scary, I don’t like it, I want to go home.”

Paul throws him a little smile.

“Hugh?”

“Yes?”

“You trust me, right?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Can I get a portable scanner? I’m sure they won’t attack me. I don’t smell human. But I want to find out more about them.”

“That’s a horrible idea. Paul, you’ll -“

“I’ll be fine. I have enough backup energy stored to electrocute probably five of those things, just if things come to a head. But… we need to, _I_ need to explore the monsters in this world if I want to be as prepared as I can be for our expedition.”

“We’ll stay on land, Paul. There’s no way, no way at all that we’ll go into the water. Not now that we know what’s in there.”

“I’m just curious.”

“The handheld scanner has a range of five meters, probably less underwater! And - those things - Paul, please.”

Paul steps close to him. “I’m not going to get hurt, Hugh. I promise. I’m not - I won’t drown, they can’t smell me as prey and won’t attack me, and I’m a good deal stronger than most ocean currents.”

 

 

 

So Hugh gives Paul the scanner, averts his eyes while Paul undresses (and then sneaks a peek anyways, catching a glimpse of pale legs and a lean chest), watches him walk over to the cliff and jump into the water.

And then he waits.

After a while he gets tired of standing, so he sits on the hood of the cart that’s slowly starting to bake in the heat. He’s pretty sure that without the damn monster scaring both of them, he would’ve kissed Paul earlier. The question is just… did Paul want that too? He did lean in towards Hugh, but did he know that Hugh was intending on kissing him? Did he understand that Hugh wanted him to live with him because Hugh lo- because Hugh has a crush on him? 

And what is Hugh to him? Does Paul feel the same things, or does Paul want nothing but friendship?

This is probably what he was missing out on in school when everyone was having their increasingly complicated romantic entanglements at 16, when teen Hugh was doing something adult Hugh already forgot about. His relationships so far have been pretty straightforward - flirting, dating, a first kiss, lots more kisses, and everything else, but with Paul… he doesn’t even know whether Paul _likes_ him. Well, sure, Paul likes him, but only in a platonic way. Or Hugh only knows Paul likes him platonically. And Paul has no idea about flirting either, and it’s not like they can go on dates here. But he’s so pretty and so nice and funny and warm and caring and Hugh’s heart is bleeding just a little bit.

He looks at his nails, clipped short and in some places already chewed short again. It’s the stress, he tells himself. The stress and the terror and the pain offset against Paul’s sweetness.

What would Paul think if he found out Hugh used to paint them? Oohh, and would Paul accompany him to Pride? Would he maybe fondly curl his arm around Hugh and steady him on his heels the drunker he got? Ari had done that, and later he’d take Hugh back to either of their places and kissed him stupid, jokingly calling him ’my lady’ and ’madam’ while being careful with Hugh’s dress and tights and heels. Ari had been a real sweetheart, but when he had to move the long distance hadn’t worked out. And when Hugh had finally been ready to rejoin the dating scene there weren’t really many people he was interested in, and then he’d come to Alterra, where the dating scene and especially the gay dating scene was… even smaller. 

One of his colleagues had been the only other guy interested in guys, but he had a girlfriend. Hugh had asked him for a date, gotten a very friendly rejection, and that had been that.

And Ari had always jokingly complained that Hugh didn’t know what it’s like to grow up gay in a tiny, tiny backwards town with only three other non-heterosexual people and at least one of them being everyone’s 80-year old lesbian godmother. And it’s true, Hugh didn’t know that. He’s always had an acceptable dating pool available, more or less. Right until now.

Sucks.

“So I didn’t drown!” Paul calls out, coming splashing out of the water.

He’s… wet. Glittering, glistening wet. 

“Did you find anything interesting?”

“Um… unless you want to be thoroughly scared…”

Hugh physically shudders. “No. No, I don’t. Can we please get back into the cart, drive away a bit and then have our picnic where we talk exclusively about nice things?”

 

 

 

There seems to be a very enthusiastic discussion going on at command when they come back. Hugh parks the cart and tries to not revel too much in being able to walk past this particular problem.

“Why do you think are they fighting?” Paul asks, not masking his curiosity at all.

“Landry probably has other opinions about the route than Michael, and Lorca probably has some kind of ulterior motive on where he wants to send us.”

“What kind of ulterior motive?”

Hugh shrugs. 

“Absolutely no idea, and I don’t think I want to have an idea. Some things are better when they happen in their own time instead of you having to know them before.”

“Maybe he knows something about the wrecks.”

“Maybe. Or maybe he just wants us to believe he knows something. People are scared of someone else having knowledge that they don’t, Paul, and it’s a lot easier to keep everyone in check if you manage to come across as aloof.”

“What could he know though? I mean - are there any rumors, or… maybe something is hidden in the wrecks.”

“I hope it’s chocolate.”

“What’s that?”

“You’ve never had chocolate?” Hugh turns to Paul, incredulous. “Never? When I was a kid, I’d spend all my pocket money on chocolate - and on comics - because it just tastes so good!”

“It’s a food?”

“It’s the best food. You’ve really never…?”

“I don’t need food to run, I just need nutrients. Which is why I eat nutri bars,” Paul says, sounding oddly defensive.

“Nutri bars taste like my grandma’s ass,” Hugh mutters to himself, switching the coffee machine on with practised movements.

“How do you know -”

“That’s an euphemism. I just mean - they don’t taste good.”

“I wasn’t made to perceive taste.”

“So you _can’t_ taste anything.”

Paul squints in a manner that’s oddly reminiscent of how he looked at Hugh in the very beginning, when they still loathed each other.

“I don’t see why you’re suddenly so preoccupied with my functions.”

“Sorry,” Hugh tries. “I just - I - I really like chocolate, and I’d like to share that enjoyment with you. That’s all.”

“Oh!”

Hugh could swear Paul blushes.

 

 

 

 

They have a slightly belated dinner because Paul expressed a sudden interest in the portaCT and Hugh can never say no when there’s that timid expression of wonder and curiosity in his voice.

However, dinner gets cut short all of a sudden when Ensign Connor shows up, a little red in the face, because apparently there has been an emergency.

Not that Hugh really wanted to finish dinner either, especially considering how now even salt has become a rarity.

“It’s Captain Lorca, sir,” Connor tells him once they’ve left the mess hall, Paul hot on their heels. “He accompanied one of the patrol groups, and he’s injured. Badly.”

“And if we ’accidentally’ let him die, we’l never get off this rock,” Hugh mutters darkly. When Connor gapes at him in shock, he quickly amends: “That was a joke. An inappropriate one, too.”

 

 

 

 

Lorca is in bad shape indeed. His hip is flayed literally to the bone, there are several breaks that his leg bones could do without, and a plant has left several thorns in his side.

The captain gives some sort of explanation from behind gritted teeth that Hugh doesn’t even listen to. All he gathers is that it was an accident with their dirt cart, and for once all other injuries are scrapes and bumps and bruises that he can send Paul to treat.

Lorca will be on bedrest for quite a while though, and Hugh secretly delights in fighting with him about what he can and can’t do, especially since the second list is a lot longer than the first.

Once Lorca has finally, finally let Hugh have the last word and Hugh stopped grinning at himself while doing his write-ups, he heads over to Command, once again with Paul in tow, to inform Detmer she’ll have to hold the fort there in a half-half shift with Owosekun.

 

 

 

 

“How bad is it?” she asks.

Hugh shrugs. 

“Depending on how well he actually follows my instructions, but I’d still say it’ll take a few weeks.”

Detmer does a really bad job at hiding her sigh of relief.

“Good, that’s good. I mean - oh, you know what, Hugh? It’s good.”

“I hear you. He’s difficult on his best days.”

“Yeah, he is.” She laughs a little and leans against her console again. “I mean, he _is_ good at this, you know, the whole war business, but he isn’t quite the kind of guy I’d like to hang around with.”

“He’s got some rather extreme ideas,” Hugh agrees.

“Oh, don’t even get me started! But, um, anyways, did he have any specific orders?”

“No. Just that you and Joann are going to be on your own.”

Detmer nods, fiddling with her sleeves. She looks almost like she’s feeling guilty of something.

“Hugh,” she says finally, just as Hugh wanted to take his leave. “Can I tell you something? Off the record?”

“Of course.”

“Suppose,” she begins, still fiddling with her sleeves. “Suppose right now someone would ask you out. Someone… someone who you really like. Would you - what would you do?”

Hugh can’t help but grin.

“Is there a fancy restaurant out here that I’m not aware of that you got asked out to?”

“No! No, she - um, I mean, _that person_ just, um, asked me to hang out sometime, have dinner together. And go for a walk or something.”

’She’. Oh, Hugh definitely knows who Detmer is talking about.

“Say yes. Definitely.”

“You’re sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“It’s what you would do?”

Hugh thinks of Paul.

“If - if, if that person, if there was a chance they’d like me back and there was a chance they’d, a chance we could have some kind of future, I would. “

Detmer smiles almost bittersweetly.

“Maybe you should take your own advice, doc.”

Hugh thinks of Paul again. The android - the man? is standing right beside him, probably wearing his standby face, and not for the first time Hugh thinks of the could’ve-beens and maybes. Thinks of Detmer and Owosekun who could get out of this together and intact, in a little apartment somewhere on Earth, both with scars but both alive. And he thinks of the great big unknown that’s swallowed Paul. He wouldn’t put it past him to actually commit his self-righteous suicide when push comes to shove; or maybe Paul will actually shy away from that in the end and… and then, should they go home, where would he go? There’s no way they’d let Paul stay with him, so whatever might or might not happen between them here would end either way.

“I don’t think it’s possible that, that what I’m hoping for will actually happen,” he says softly. “But thank you.”

“Sure. Can I do anything else for you?”

Hugh’s eyes fall on the comm station, and it tugs on his heartstrings.

“You want to comm your family,” Detmer says, following his eyes.

“Like everyone does, probably.” Hugh sighs. “Don’t worry about it. It’s fine. It’s just a happy pipe dream.”

“Maybe you should.”

“Every outgoing radio transmission -”

“I know. But you’re doing so much for us.”

“That doesn’t mean I should get an extra cookie. Especially not one this big. Everyone wants to call their families.”

“Okay. I’m going to leave for half an hour and get a very late dinner, and I’m going to lock the door from the outside. Whatever happens in here, or doesn’t happen, nobody will know about it, and I’ll have to do a manual systems reset when I come back anyways.” She pats his arm. “Thank you for the advice, Doctor Culber, and stop trying to be the most selfless person ever. Also,” She throws a pointed look at Paul. “Take your own advice.”

“What did she mean by that?” Paul asks with a frown while they watch her leave. “Who is asking you out?”

Hugh chuckles.

“Nobody, sadly. Especially not the person I would like to ask me out.”

The comm station is tempting him badly.

“Who would you want to ask you out?”

Maybe he should try to call his mom.

“Hugh?”

It’s so easy to start the console up, dial up Earth, see the connection blink and blink until finally it’s steady, and then he puts in his parents’ address, fingers shaking.

This is way too easy and the fact that the call is going through as well.

The computer dials. Hugh sits back on the chair properly and dries his suddenly sweaty palms on his thighs.

What if it actually works and he actually gets through and he’ll hear his mom’s voice again? He’s not at all prepared for the emotions that would evoke.

The line crackles and he almost wants the connection to fail because he doesn’t know what to say, what to tell them.

_“Culber?”_

That’s his mom’s voice.

Oh, god, that’s his mom’s voice.

Hugh wells up immediately, curling in on himself, one hand against his face, the other one against the console, because _that’s his mom_!

_“Hello?”_

“Mom!” he gasps.

_“Excuse me, who is this?”_

“Mom, it’s me, it’s Hugh!” His voice breaks on his own name. “Mom!” he tries again. “Mom, are you there?”

_“Hugh?”_

“Yeah. It’s me. Hi, mom. How are you?”

_“Oh - oh sweetie. Oh, my angel.”_ Her voice is breaking too, and that’s definitely not the static in the connection. _“Are you coming home? Are you alright? Talk to me, please, baby.”_

“I’m - I’m not coming home, not yet. Mom, how are you? How was your operation, how is Camilla and the baby, how are my dads, how are Linda and Constanza, how are my grandparents?” His voice falters again.

_“They’re all fine, sweetie. Camilla named the baby after you. Your abuelo isn’t walking so well anymore, but he spends all day in the garden, watching your abuela and me tend to the garden. Oh, you don’t even know that - we moved, we all moved together, your dads and your abuelos and Camilla and her husband and little Hugh, and Constanza still sends those wonderful pictures, and Linda can’t save herself from clients, and she just opened up a second office. How are you, my angel?”_

“I’m… I’m okay, mom. We’re… we’re starting on a mission soon to, um.” He’ll have to lie, doesn’t he? “To get some supplies and find, um, some things to be able to build a weapon that the captain thinks can give us a huge advantage. There’s always a lot of work to be done, and - and of course I’m responsible for all of them, but… I think we might just be fine.” Hugh exhales carefully, trying to steady his breath.

There are a few odd sounds. Hugh fears the connection might break up, and that would be absolutely not okay, because he needs to at least be able to say goodbye.

But then: _“Hey, Hugh.”_ and _“Hugh?”_ and those are his _dads_ and there are tears properly streaming down Hugh’s face now.

“Hi dads,” he whispers.

 

 

 

 

The half hour is over way too quickly, and Hugh just barely remembers not to say goodbye but ’I can’t wait to see you again’, because it sounds so much more hopeful.

Paul is looking at him weirdly, and clearly he has questions.

They walk back over to the medbay building and Hugh makes a bee line for his room. Paul stops him only shortly before the staircase.

“Hugh…”

Hugh gently takes Paul’s hand from his arm.

“I’m fine, Paul. I just need to be alone right now.”

Paul lets him go. 

Hugh barely manages to change into his pajamas before curling up in bed and sobbing his heart out.


	19. XVIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhh... *waves awkwardly* hello.... welcome back.... i don't even want to give any excuses or anything sjkdhflskjdf i'm just really grateful is there's still someone out there who's interested into this story!! thank you, you rock!
> 
>  
> 
> unfortunately i can't promise anything about update times anymore... i just hope i'll be able to keep them coming semi-frequently :/
> 
>  
> 
> also please nobody call me out on eegs please i don't know how they work (yet), i just know a tiny bit about the waves n such

The next morning he feels better than he has in months. 

He thinks of little Hugh, so far away. He’s probably starting to walk already. Hugh would give so much to be there now, seeing the new house, getting to know his little nephew.

And now it feels like there’s a future where he will do all that. Like… like he didn’t lie and they’ll definitely go home.

And maybe where that future is, there’s also a future where he’ll go home and introduce his family to a beautiful, slightly synthetic boyfriend. Paul would probably hold on to Hugh’s hand tightly, stay a little behind him, face a little frowny in anticipation, and then his mom would hug Paul and welcome him into the family. She has a really easy way of chatting to people and making them feel welcome (funny, then, that she married the two most socially awkward men in the world), and she’d do the same thing to Paul, making him smile in no time. Da would insist on making drinks and somehow the rest of the family would manage to show up just in time for cookies, and they’d spend the afternoon on the couch, snacking on pastries and laughing with some of the people Hugh holds most dear in the world. Paul would be curled up against Hugh’s side, but he’d relax more and more. They’d have dinner in the garden and Paul would make really funny faces when trying Hugh’s dads’ super spicy foods, and he’d definitely let Hugh’s mom give him a goodbye kiss on the cheek.

Maybe that doesn’t have to be a daydream forever.

Hugh rolls over onto his other side, facing the room, tomentally prepare himself for getting up and getting ready and - he has to look over Michael’s brainscans today, doesn’t he? Wow, he completely forgot that, but yeah, that’s something that definitely needs to be done today.

Including -

“You are awake, but your eyes are still closed,” Paul remarks casually, like it’s normal to stare at a sleeping person. “Why?”

Hugh groans softly. Alright, so maybe he does want to hear Paul’s voice first thing in the morning and relish in the fuzzies it’s giving him. Just not like this. Him saying something else, something cute, maybe. Fine. Maybe… maybe there’s some kind of attraction there.

Okay, he also just imagined introducing Paul to his parents as his boyfriend. So, he’s probably definitely attracted to Paul. Also it would be hard not to be attracted to him, with his whole face and hands and the fact that he has a body.

Yeah, Hugh likes his men to be corporeal entities. What a realization to have after being out for as long as he’s been.

“Hugh?”

“Mmmrgh.”

“Are you feeling okay?”

“I think today should be a stay in bed-day, and all I’ll do is daydream.”

The mattress dips under Paul’s weight as he sits next to Hugh.

“What would you daydream about?” he asks softly, resting a hand on Hugh’s shoulder. “About the person you want to ask you out?”

“Yeah,” Hugh admits. “Sometimes I think I should say something. Tell him I’m interested. That I have a big crush on him.”

“It’s a guy?”

Hugh laughs.

“Paul, I’m gay. I don’t know whether you noticed, but I’m very gay.”

“That’s alright, you know. Every kind of love is -”

“I know that, Paul. Don’t worry. I’ve known for a very long time, I’m out to my family, I’ve brought boyfriends home… that stuff isn’t too great a deal anymore, after all. I just mean - of course it’s a guy, because I’m into guys.”

“What do you like about him?”

Hugh thinks. Everything, he wants to say.

“The way he smiles. The way… he’s so curious. So… so innocent, sometimes, but also so jaded. He’s super gentle with me, and he always looks out for me and has my back. I also like the look in his eyes when he’s angry. I like… he’s got very beautiful hands. And he’s so sassy. And I bet he gives great hugs.”

“He,” Paul clears his throat. “He sounds like a very nice guy.”

“I want to kiss him,” Hugh says more to the pillow than anyone else. “I want to kiss him so badly. I haven’t kissed anyone in so long, and I just - I want to kiss him and never stop. And I could just imagine it too. Maybe… driving out to a beach with him, sit on a blanket, bury our toes in the sand and just kiss until we’re both drunk on it. And then I want to hold him until we can’t tell where he ends and I begin, and I want everything to smell like him.”

“That sounds nice,” Paul says stiffly.

“Yeah,” Hugh whispers. “He’s so huggable. I just want to snuggle him forever. I want to know what his skin tastes like and how fast his heart beats and how his hand feels when it’s in mine and what his hair smells like.”

“Right.”

Paul’s voice is downright icy, and that’s when Hugh realizes something is probably up. Mainly the part where he’s gushing about Paul to Paul when really he should be getting up.

“Sorry for annoying you with that,” he says. “I’m feeling a little soft after - after talking to my parents yesterday. I’m going to get dressed now.”

Paul gets up and moves to stand close to the door, hands at his side in a definitely unrelaxed way, and the hope Hugh had for a happy future where he’ll get to kiss Paul eventually crumbles. It’s so difficult to gauge what’ll piss Paul off, but… okay. No mentions of wanting love then.

Maybe Paul is jealous, Hugh thinks while he showers and gets ready. Jealous that Hugh will have experienced being alive. Maybe Paul wants to experience love too, and he’s jealous that he doesn’t think he ever will. If only Hugh knew how to put into words that that love is right there and that all he wants is to make Paul… to let him feel and be who he is.

 

 

 

 

 

Paul is… an icicle, for lack of a better word, and his mood isn’t improved by Lorca trying to boss everyone around.

 

 

 

 

 

_“What would be an indicator for a high grade loss of morality according to Greene’s seven step system in patients’ treatment? Culber.”_

_“Misadministration of medication or wrong treatment due to personal bias.”_

_“Could you give an example?”_

_“Um, if I don’t like the patient’s personality and then give them a different treatment than what they need. So, maybe they’re annoying me and I give them a tranquilizer.”_

_Laughter titters through the room and Hugh grins to himself. The professor smiles as well._

_“I agree, that_ would _be a loss of morality. Thank you.”_

 

 

 

 

 

Since Lorca would’ve noticed Hugh administering the tranq, he slips it into the NaCl solution before getting that and the painkillers over to him and hooking him up. Sure, Prof Rizarro would disapprove, and so would that Greene guy, and so would literally every other doctor who’s humanity organ wasn’t broken yet. See whether Hugh cares.

Actually, he cares a lot. But in the way you care about good things, the way that makes you want to do it again. 

If they had any chance of getting out alive with Lorca drugged up to his ears, Hugh would definitely do that. Or just kill him, that’d be easier on the resources.

And like a manic fever dream, that image occurs to him while he’s fixing up the drip. Maybe administer one of those drugs while Lorca is sleeping, or just a straight up air filled syringe, rid them of him forever. 

Is that what his therapist meant with thinking happy things? Maybe not, but it is a happy thing and he’s just going to think it.

Another happy thing is how Paul’s pants hug his ass. Especially when he bends over to pick something up. Maybe Hugh should start dropping things everywhere, since dropping hints hasn’t worked.

Or maybe eventually Paul will pick up the hint, too, and they can have little trysts in Hugh’s office. Which… doesn’t have a door, but you know. Maybe if nobody else is injured and Lorca is high as a kite.

Tilly knocks into him and rattles him a little.

“Hi. What are you being all frowny about?”

So he made it into the queue for breakfast without really realizing it. And also without Paul, which is… not so happy.

“Tilly?”

“Yeah?”

“I may have a thing for Paul.”

“Yeah, I know.”

They get their food and sit somewhere in the periphery of the room, where they hopefully won’t be disturbed.

“I mean like I have a huge thing for him.”

“Is that a dick joke?”

“What? Oh. No. No, that’s not - I wouldn’t - big dicks aren’t that great. I mean… it’s not just that I, you know…”

“You don’t just want to get with him, you also have feelings.”

Hugh nods, nudging his food with his fork.

“A lot of them, too. I mean, I still want to - he is very attractive, and of course I want to sleep with him, but… I also want more. You know, maybe something where… something more profound. I wish… imagine we were on Earth, and I would just meet him somewhere, and we’d talk and maybe go out for lunch one day, and he’s going to ask me for his number, and we’ll hang out, and we’ll kiss goodbye, and then we’ll talk about how we’d both like to be exclusive, and we’d keep going on dates and hanging out and kissing and eventually he’d sleep over for the first time and we’d have morning sex and eventually we’d move in with each other, and we’d adopt an animal and… I don’t know, I get to introduce him to my parents.”

“Except he’s an android.”

“Except he’s an android and we’re in a war and he doesn’t plan on surviving that war, Tilly! Why can’t he be a cute guy that I met somewhere?”

“Where do you meet guys?”

Well. That’s a rude question to ask, considering how Hugh’s idea of dating is to not go out of his way too much, then wonder why he doesn’t meet anyone.

“Uh. I don’t know, but I could’ve met him _somewhere_.”

“But you didn’t. What if you - just as an idea - what if you told him how you feel?”

Hugh snorts. “Is that a joke? What if he rejects me?”

“What if he feels the same way?”

Kissing Paul. Now _that’s_ a warm, happy thought.

“I bet he tastes nice,” Hugh says, more to himself than to Tilly. “I mean, okay, I’ve never seen him brush his teeth and I don’t know how his digestive system actually works, whether he - I mean he chews, so I’ll assume he produces saliva, but maybe it’s antimicrobial. Or something. I mean I don’t want to kiss him if he tastes of several months of unbrushed teeth, you know. Could still have sex with him though. Cuddle him. I mean I could also probably just tell him to brush his teeth, then that would be fine.”

Tilly groans. “Oh, god, Hugh. No. Just… no. Do me a favor and sit down with him, tell him you like him.”

“But I told him that! I told him I like him and he’s always taking care of me, and he’s helping me out in the medbay.”

“… Hugh. _Please_. Have you considered telling him -”

“I told him all that!”

“Yeah, no, I mean have you considered telling him something you like about _him_ , not about something he does for you or that he does because he doesn’t have anything better to do? Or ask him about himself.”

“He doesn’t always react well to that,” Hugh admits. “I mean… I get it, you know? He’ll never have any kind of life. He’s probably never been outside until Alterra. I just really get it, that he doesn’t really want to hear about how life could’ve been.”

“That’s awful. But… Hugh, you still need to find some kind of common ground. Maybe… maybe there’ll be - because he’s so sophisticated, maybe they’ll let him go free afterwards, but you still need to find common ground now. You like him so much! Why not try? Because… because if we all die here it won’t matter anyways, and if maybe there’s a future for you… you know, you’d have that.”

“Is that why you got together with Michael?”

“Kind of?” Tilly strokes a few stray hairs out of her face and looks down on her plate. “Hugh… I’m not saying to give up hope that we’ll go home, not at all, but… please seize the day, okay? Stop denying yourself something that could be so good for you.”

Hugh can’t help but grin. “Seriously, Tilly, what happened to you? You sound so grown up.”

She squirms and because her hair is tied back, Hugh can see her blushing.

“Tilly?”

“I… got laid, and I know for a fact that you’d enjoy that too. You know. Human closeness, a relationship, all that. And sometimes people need an extra nudge.”

“I’ll think about it.”

 

 

 

 

It’s hard not to think about it. Even though Paul’s mouth is a hard line when he meets Hugh’s eyes and he’s very much trying to stay busy and away from Hugh.

Fine. Maybe Hugh just shouldn’t bother Paul then. And he does have Michael’s brainscans to concern himself with anyways, and surely Paul will alert him if he’s needed outside.

Brainscans are tedious business, and trying to decipher them with what little equipment Hugh has is tedious, so his mind keeps returning to Paul. To their almost-kisses, to the kiss-that-wasn’t-a-kiss, to their little touches, Paul’s smiles… 

Yeah, he should go back to pretending he knows what the absolute fuck all the measurements and images and graphs and colors mean.

Back in med school he used to measure how much time had passed in cups of tea he had and, subsequently, times he had to go to the bathroom. When he started working, he started to measure that time in cups of coffee instead.

Now Hugh measures the time in times he had to get his thoughts back on track. Even though he loses track of that after he’s past thirty times.

The worst thing is maybe that all he can think about is Paul. And… not particularly innocently. Of course he finds Paul sexually attractive, and of course he also wants - well, he wants the nonsexual things, but also the sexual things. Like, say, Paul wrapping those legs around Hugh’s hips. Or putting Paul’s pretty lips to work. Feeling Paul’s heated breath against the back of his neck while he’s pressing Hugh down into -

Wave levels. He really should be looking at the wave levels. 

Except not a single one of them looks like anything that should be happening inside a human’s brain… unless maybe a certain android were holding him down and having his way with him, then Hugh would quite possibly exhibit wave levels unlike anything ever seen.

God, if someone would please make his brain shut up and concentrate. He’s not usually this much of a horndog. As in, back when he was working properly in an actual hospital. Sure, there had been cute nurses and cute doctors and cute techs and a lot of cute people, but it had usually not affected his work. And he certainly didn’t often hook up with people from his workspace. Never, actually; only when they’d work on a completely different station and there was no way of the hooking up interfering with either of their work, and even then it had only been two or three times. As for now - Paul may not exactly be in Hugh’s line of command, but the situation is difficult enough that Hugh probably shouldn’t -

Or maybe he should at least try it. Check how feasible it is, how high Paul’s interest is, whether Paul would like to hook up. Or… or do more. The possibility is there. Maybe Paul is interested. Maybe Paul is frigid now because he thinks Hugh is into a different guy and really he’d been trying to show his interest in Hugh, only he doesn’t know how.

Maybe the reason the wave pattern looks so unrecognizable is because it’s actually two sets of waves overlapping each other.

Ooohh.

That would actually make a lot of sense. But why did the program write it as one when they’re two sets of waves? And why would it even write two sets of waves? He only scanned one brain with one consciousness in it.

Are they even two sets of waves? 

He needs to print them out, first of all. Trace them, see whether they’d connect to two distinct sets.

 

 

 

 

Two hours of careful tracing, scrapping, new printing, despairing, drinking coffee, thinking almost not at all about whether Paul has genitals, and finally flipping through every psychological textbook he has at his demand (aka two) because whatever the fuck he found, this should not be possible.

To put it mildly: There’s Michael in her brain and then there’s a second set of brainwaves, and they are sleeping while Michael is awake. Because Michael was awake during the scans, and there’s no way that delta wave complexes would show up during wakefulness, especially not with that frequency. Especially not when there are regular base alpha wave complexes still happening at the same time, like regular wakefulness.

Or, to put it slightly more succinctly: fuck. 

Hugh buries his face in his hands. He wouldn’t know how to deal with that if he were sitting pretty in a big hospital with specialists of all disciplines only a phonecall away, and, to absolutely nobody’s surprise, he also doesn’t know how to deal with it without all that.

He should probably tell Michael. ’Oh, hi, yeah, I looked at your brain scans and it turns out you seem to have a second personality in your head. Also, did you hear about how Morrison and Paige finally hooked up? Crazy, right?’ Yeah, that’d go excellently.

 

_“I wish it need not have happened in my time," said Frodo._

_"So do I," said Gandalf, "and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.”_

 

Hugh groans softly. Maybe he can sneak upstairs and stick his nose into those books again, hide himself away in a different war where the protagonists already know they’re the protagonists and where he knows they’ll all be fine in the end, more or less.

Or maybe if there could be a Gandalf here, giving him advice or magic or just being at his side.

Honestly, Hugh would settle for a trusty horse. Or, uh, maybe something smaller. A pony. A small pony. A baby pony. And not a sword, but maybe some Elvish herbs to magically fix things.

Or if he could be Cinderella and go to a ball, that would be pretty neat too, because he does know how to dance and he’s probably smart enough to help run a kingdom.

Or if he could climb a tower and kiss a sleeping prince. He’d also let himself be kissed after a hundred year sleep. Or was it a thousand years? Honestly, that sounds pretty nice. Sleeping for a thousand years and then be kissed awake by someone beautiful who’ll then help you out of the tower and onto his horse and you’ll get married and live happily ever after.

Yeah, that’s something Hugh can get behind. 

He tidies his desk with lazy movements, envisioning his prince. He’d be blonde, like all fairy tale princes, and he’d have blue eyes and a cute smile and gentle hands and he’d steady Hugh. He’d probably secretly be a nerd about something, maybe history and calligraphy.

And even though Hugh is mildly afraid of horses, if Paul were to offer him a hand and help him on one of them, he wouldn’t say no at all. And holding on tightly could surely be understood as him not wanting to fall off while he nuzzles his prince’s hairline, and maybe Paul would halt the horse just as they’re passing a clearing in the magical forest they’re riding through, and they’d take a break and they’d talk and kiss and Paul would ask Hugh to marry him and Hugh would say yes. Then Paul would take him home to his castle and they’d have a grand ball to announce their betrothal.

 

 

 

 

Hugh is deeply immersed into planning the wedding when someone knocks on the doorframe, startling him out of his daydream.

“Hugh?” It’s Michael who’s sticking her head in. Of course.

“Hi, Michael. What can I do for you?”

“Am I interrupting something?”

“Um, only my daydreaming. Come on in. What can I do for you?”

“I have to talk to you. In private, preferably off the record, though what I’m going to tell you will make you want to put it on record, but you can’t tell the captain.”

“My room, then.”

 

 

 

Michael looks a little forlorn when she sits down. That’s not something Hugh would usually ever associate with her, but it’s rather fitting right now.

“What is it?” he asks gently. “I - I will treat this as off the record, and if it’s something I think should go on the record, we can discuss that later, but I’m… well, if it’s on the record and ends up compromising you, we’ll both have Lorca to deal with.”

She chuckles mirthlessly. “Oh, we will. Um… so. My hallucinations.”

“Mhm.”

“Of the late Captain Georgiou.”

“Those, yes.”

“Suppose I were to tell you that I don’t believe I’m nuts, anymore, and I do believe that Pippa really is still around, somehow preserved in my consciousness, like a second identity. But not like one I made up - I mean it’s really her. Like her, her ghost or her soul or something.”

“Right.”

“You think I’m off my rocker.”

Hugh has to grin. “No, Michael, I don’t. First of all, that’s not terminology you should use in regards to mental illnesses. Secondly… I finally reviewed your brainscans. And I very much don’t think that it’s, that you made her up, so to speak.”

“So you’re saying you believe me. Just like that.”

“Yes.”

“Hugh…”

“I’m serious. The scans showed two sets of waves. And they weren’t just the same one twice. Those were two different sets. Like someone had taken the waves of two different people who react differently to different stimuli and had put them on the same graph. But - how did you find out?”

“She, um.” Michael looks down on her fingers playing with the hem of her uniform jacket. “She’s been talking lots to me, and she convinced me that, well. That she’s real.”

“How does that feel for you?” Hugh tries. He’s not a psychologist or a therapist by any means, but there are a couple things he knows to do and ask when stuff like this happens. Well. Not stuff like _this_ , but in general, stuff that changes your life.

Michael shrugs. “Good. Relieved, I guess. I’m… not going crazy. That’s good.”

“But?” Hugh probes carefully.

“But it is a little awkward, seeing how my former, um, well, she and I were - it wasn’t a romantic relationship really, I would say it was more of a friends with benefits arrangement, but… it’s awkward, then, with Tilly.”

“Does she know?”

“No. I wanted to hear your opinion first. That you agree what it is. That's all, really. We can't really do anything about it.”

“... well, no, I'm afraid not. And I can only agree that with the methods I can use and the knowledge I have your theory is correct. I might be wrong.”

Michael nods and gets up, patting his shoulder. “You’re a great doctor, Hugh. Give yourself some more credit. Um - I’m going to talk to Tilly, and I’m going to see you tomorrow when we start off.”

“At dawn?”

“Hour before.”

Hugh grimaces. Michael gives his shoulder another pat and leaves Hugh to wondering what kind of sick, nasty, twisted person you have to be to start an expedition an hour before dawn. Especially considering it’s a _dangerous_ expedition. If you go on a hike maybe, to see some… trees or whatever people want to see when they go on hikes, that’s fine and acceptable; but if you go on an expedition to look at scary wrecks and possibly even scarier alien buildings, then you don’t get up that early for that!

God, when did his life get so complicated that someone telling him they've got someone else's soul in them as well can be brushed aside as only an oddity?

So maybe before he freaks out - because he’s already well on the way to that with how fast his pulse and tight his chest has gotten - he should go and take a very long and very hot shower, because it’s the last hot shower he’ll take for a while.

 

 

 

 

He packs up afterwards - clothes, underwear, socks, toothbrush, the usual. And then as many medical supplies as he can let himself get away with taking. So… basically it’s a first aid kit. So if someone gets wounded, he can at least give them a nice band-aid. Even though he ran out of the dinosaur band aids and the butterfly ones are also almost empty.

What? He’s a paediatrician, and even though he might have been working in oncology, keeping a large stock of age appropriate band aids is _very_ important.

Besides, even the most battle hardened soldier will still smile when they get colorful bandaids stuck on top of whatever bandages they have to wear.

The last thing and also the only really unnecessary item he adds is the small photo album he has, his only reminder of home. He can’t flip through it, most of the time; too painful, too scary, because every page also reminds him that he might die here and then he’d never see any of the people in the pictures again; but he also can’t stand leaving it behind. It’s all he has.

Hugh sits down on the bed and breathes softly, consciously, cradling the small book. It has seen better days, but there are his parents and sisters smiling at him from the cover. He’s there, too, a gangly teenager of sixteen years, no beard but that handful of longer locks that fell onto his forehead, wearing that awful Victorian uniform jacket he loved so much back then. Camilla is hugging him from the side, so much tinier, while Linda and Constanza are standing in front of them, holding hands; and their parents in the back, all smiling so carefree. What wouldn’t he give to be back in that picture for just five minutes. smell the saltwater air, dig his toes into the beach, be teased for wearing his jacket despite the heat?

The photo album goes into a safe pouch on the backpack’s back (or front? Whichever part it is that’s actually against Hugh’s back when he wears it) so he can shift and feel the edges dig into his skin while carrying the pack.

And that’s it. He should probably go back to his patients now.

 

 

 

 

It’s cold before dawn. So cold that Hugh gets out his scarf and hat just before they leave. There’s no use in taking carts, because they’ll be useless once they reach the mountains, so at least they’ll get warm through walking.

They’re ten people overall - Hugh, Paul, Michael, Tyler, Landry and five of her best soldiers. Or maybe the only ones she could take. Cornell, Stanson, Wilson, Lee and Yates. They’re alright, all of them. Neither the best nor the worst soldiers will do them any good if one of the Klingons’ squadrons finds them, but hey. Positive mental attitude.

Paul even gives Hugh a slight smile this morning, so that’s something that’s actually positive.

So off they go, into the great unknown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧
> 
> thank you for reading! please leave me a comment if you enjoyed this chapter, it would honestly mean a lot to me <3


	20. XIX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is g a y :D
> 
> also i just want to say thank you to all the lovely peeps who've been sticking with me so far! you guys are the REAL heroes of the story! seriously, no matter how often a surprise hiatus shows up (*cough*) there are still so many of you who still show up and read and comment on the next chapter, and that's so amazing! thank you guys SO much <3 there are so many wonderful or funny or outraged comments that i just absolutely love coming back to... and also all the really confused comments where i always wanted to respond with telling you guys the whole plot :D  
> i really appreciate every single comment, even if i don't reply (and tbh, the reason for that is usually that the only way i could respond was via something like "alkjhsdlfkajsdfk", which... well, that wouldn't do a comment justice now, would it? but also if you think authors can words after you left a comment, you're pretty mistaken. personally i like to make tea kettle noises and cry a little with every comment i get, so.... `:D )
> 
> ANYWAYS on to the story

Alterra’s trees are bioluminescent.

Hugh forgets all about the cold and the early and the fact that someone (Paul) had woken him a lot earlier because an hour before dawn meant three hours before dawn, apparently, and technically he’s tired and grumpy and cold and scared but… Alterra’s trees are bioluminescent. A faint blue shine greets them once they approach the forest. The air seems thicker there, more moist, and luckily also warmer and there’s none of that cutting wind they’ve experienced on the plains.

These ones are one of the more common tree species on the planet, and Hugh has seen them before, so they’re not really special, but they make a nice difference from the stone walls and metal trucks in the camp.

Hugh trails a finger along one of them as they walk, collecting moisture on his skin. At least this place is pretty. And remarkably not-poisonous. Whatever the antonym of poisonous is. Edible? Even though you still shouldn’t eat most of the plant life around, but at least it doesn’t try to actively murder you.

“Remember, only spectroscope scanner-green assigned flora is actually edible,” comes Landry’s voice. “Don’t forget that, because there’s no treatment available if you eat something you shouldn’t have.”

Good thing they all have a scanner, because otherwise survival would look rather dire once they’re isolated from the rest of the group.

If. If they’re isolated.

Positive thinking.

 

 

 

 

While the trees keep the wind away and make it warmer, the ground is also a lot more swampy and difficult to transverse than the hard, flat gravel of the plains. Also, there’s no path. They all have a holo-map clipped onto their utility belts, but currently Landry is scouting, so they follow her. 

Paul stays by his side, silently. Maybe he understands that it’s way too early for Hugh to be able to talk. When Hugh’s tired feet stumble over some uneven ground, Paul catches him, offering a gentle smile and making sure Hugh is properly on his feet again before letting go.

 

 

 

 

Nobody talks much while they walk. Even though the sun eventually rises and rises and rises, the forest stays gloomy. The foliage overhead is thick and doesn’t let much light through; what light there is comes from the glow trees themselves, but there are plenty of other plants around that don’t glow.

They even encounter patches of mist on occasion, curling along the floor like they belong here.

There’s little talk. Not that there are any topics they could talk about, but as soon as they start getting into the deeper parts of the forest, a sort of hush falls over their small group, and now they’re a little more preoccupied with keeping eyes and ears sharp and alert.

Sure, there are technically no land predators (apart from a species of crabs, but those are easily dealt with - one kick and they’re flying), but once you’re outside of a settlement, away far enough that you can’t view it anymore, a very distinct sense of unease creeps into you. This is frontierland, basically.

Also there’s the memory of that _thing_ Michael and Tyler encountered, the self-warping quarantine… thing. Warper. As far as Hugh knows, the tale of that thing never reached Lorca… or Landry. Maybe it should’ve, but that’s not for Hugh to judge. There can’t be that many more of those things around, can there?

Hugh instinctively ducks his head so his neck doesn’t feel exposed anymore. At least he really _hopes_ there are no more warpers around. 

Also what does warping even mean? Teleporting? Or… bending and breaking? Like you could do to bones. Those are rather breakable.

“Is everything okay?” Paul asks softly. He must’ve noticed Hugh’s growing discomfort.

“Oh - yeah, yeah, sure. You?”

“Why are you lying?”

Right. As clueless as Paul is about someone flirting with him, as perceptive is he about someone lying.

“Remember that thing Michael and Tyler found?” Hugh asks, careful to keep his voice low. “The warper thing?”

“The Self-Warping Quarantine Enforcement Unit?”

“Mhm, that one. It’s around here somewhere. And usually, if only one specimen of something dangerous has been found it means that the rest of the species is lying in wait.”

“Is that a scientific theory?”

“Absolutely. No, of course not, but it does beg the question where all the other ones are. I don’t believe there was only one of those things still alive.”

“Is that your anxiety talking?”

“No, that’s my common sense talking. Paul, come on.”

“They didn’t encounter it here though.”

“That doesn’t mean it or its kin can’t attack us here!”

Paul sighs. “Hugh, I’ve looked at the scan of that thing, and I don’t think it’s originally a land-dwelling animal. I think it’s aquatic.”

“But it can still go on land, apparently, and _kill us_! And for me, not dying is a priority.”

“Are you going to let me talk? See, here’s what I think what happened: The precursors built these - you call them warpers? - these warpers. To enforce the quarantine. But what happens once the quarantine doesn’t need to be enforced anymore?”

“But there is no quarantine.”

“Not anymore, no. But that warper is ancient. A hundred years, maybe more. So something must’ve happened around a hundred years ago on this planet that changed something huge.”

“We discovered Alterra.” Something is beginning to dawn on Hugh, but there are too many pieces missing. “And… later we started clearing the debris field around the planet so manned missions could land. We learned about that in school. Um, and then I think there was a massive geological event here? Something like a huge earthquake, I think. And I think before that the problem was that Alterra was mainly under water? But Paul - there was no quarantine.”

“I think the precursors installed the quarantine. And then something changed.”

“Who are the precursors?”

“They built the monolith. And they are responsible for quarantining the planet.”

“But why make a quarantine?”

Paul shakes his head, looking ahead again. “I don’t know. But I feel like the monolith will have the answers we’re looking for.”

 

 

 

 

 

And that’s that. Paul is now suddenly rather occupied with scanning the plants they come across and reading their database entries. So Hugh stops for a minute to re-lace his boots and then continues on as well.

The terrain continues to get rougher as well, with them having to climb odd formations of ground only to find out it was nothing more than a several meter high spire. There are ditches to be jumped over and holes to be avoided, and they end up taking their first break around ten a.m., right on top of an especially large torus that’s oddly smooth. Again Hugh has to think of the ’precursors’ Paul keeps mentioning. 

Aliens. This whole place used to be inhabited by aliens. That’s… freaky. 

Sure, now there are the Klingons, and that was… absolutely nuts to realize, the fact that they’re really not alone in the universe. And then also the fact that the others are actually very willing to fight back.

The grass is cool and wet where Hugh sits down. His thighs and calves are grateful for the rest, and since this hill is high enough to let them see out over, they’re treated to the view.

And what a view it is!

In front of them the forest slopes up over the mountain, a dark green interspersed with a faint blue glow; a few spare patches of lighter green where there’s no foliage. To the left, the rolling ocean, occasionally adorned with patches of foam. To the right, first the great sandy expanse that is Isthmus, then yet more mountains, but these are a graphite sort of gray, spindly spikes of stone poking out like out of a giant porcupine. And finally, to the back, still visible, the camp.

It feels ridiculous now to put a camp there, considering how easy it is to spot the buildings even from far away; especially considering how they’re at war and maybe you don’t want the enemy to be able to find your camp.

Unless you’re named Gabriel Lorca, apparently.

Paul plops down next to Hugh and gives him a small smile.

“You know, this planet really is fascinating. Did you know we’re sitting on an ancient coral tube right now?”

Hugh smiles back out of politeness, though he’s a little more occupied with not falling asleep.

“It really supports the theory that this whole place used to be under water. And then, once the water was gone, land flora started to inhabit the ground. I assume that the detritus left by all the sea creatures made the ground unusually fertile, and since there are practically no land creatures that would eat the flora, the conditions for it to expand rapidly were excellent.”

“That’s great, Paul.”

“What’s wrong?” Paul shuffles closer.

“I woke up at four a.m. today and I’m now hiking slash climbing through a creepy alien forest. I’m… tired, and I don’t like hiking. Sorry.”

“Why don’t you like hiking?”

“I don’t know, I just… don’t. And I’m tired. And cold. And I like to complain, so you know.”

“You should eat something.”

“A cream cheese bagel with scrambled egg and chives, the bagel with sunflower seeds and made from multigrain wheat, and also some roiboos tea.”

Paul snickers. “Isn’t tea just hot plant water?”

“It is, but it’s tasty. There’s a tea shop close to where I used to live in San Fran - or used to be, I don’t know whether it’s still there - and they had more kinds of tea than I could believe. Every month after my paycheck had come in, I used to go there and get a different type of tea. I never drank all of them, but I always had a lot of tea at home. It was especially nice because I would drink coffee at work all day, and… well, that’s not good for your heart or your sleeping schedule, and that’s stuff I need to watch, so I always drank tea at home and sometimes even made tea to take to work with me so I’d drink that.”

“So what made you come to Alterra?”

Hugh glares slightly at the nutri bar he’s unwrapping. “I was offered a job. A great opportunity, an adventure… you know. It was supposed to be five years, including the overall one year of transit, during which I was in cryo sleep, and then I’d return home to my old job. Like taking time off to have kids, only no kids. And then the war broke out.”

“You’ll return home after the war?”

“Yeah. I don’t know what’ll happen with this planet and to be honest, I don’t care. I never got conscripted into a war in my old job, and that’s a really nice thing in my opinion!”

Paul laughs. “Fair.”

 

 

 

 

Later it occurs to Hugh that, while his reason to hate Alterra is that he got forced into a war, that same war is Paul’s reason to love Alterra. Or at least not despise it the way Hugh does. Welp.

There isn’t really much opportunity to consider whether he should’ve worded that better, or should’ve been more considerate of Paul’s feelings, because shortly after their break, the true ascent has begun, and all he can do is try not to lose sight of the group and keep climbing. Keep breathing. 

Landry calls for another break during the afternoon. They’re all sweat-soaked, and only Landry’s repeated reminders made any of them keep their armor on. Which doesn’t help with the sweating at all.

“We’re not making good enough progress,” Hugh overhears her saying, consulting the map with her second-in-command and Michael. “The terrain is too uneven. At this rate, we’ll have to forage for food sooner rather than later.”

 

 

 

 

By the time they make camp in a reasonably flat area, Hugh is beyond exhausted. It’s the difference between gym workout and workout in real life, he supposes. Good thing he’s not a soldier, so he doesn’t have to go on nightly guard duty and can just pop open his tent, inhale another nutri bar, drink some water, chew gum and finally remove his boots and clothes down to his underwear and curl up in his sleeping bag. He didn’t even ask who he was sharing tents with, but if he’s honest he doesn’t particularly care, either. His back is already going to hate him enough for sleeping on the ground, so he might as well get a lot of shut-eye in.

 

 

 

 

The forest stays mercifully quiet, too. There aren’t even any birds that consider yelling at night acceptable, and the camp very soon quietens down completely, so Hugh is able to doze off very quickly.

Someone crawls into his tent just as he’s almost in sleep land, though, but after some rummaging around the other person is completely quiet, and Hugh doesn’t mind. Sleep welcomes him after that.

 

 

 

 

Paul wakes him. He doesn’t need more than a shake of Hugh’s shoulder, warm fingers on his neck, whispering some sweet words and then Hugh’s name and of course Hugh’s stupid brain thinks it’s wakey time just because a cute guy says so.

Ugh.

But at least Paul’s fingers are warm. The rest of Hugh not so much. Does he even still have toes? He wriggles them, but they’re stiff and unfeeling.

“Good morning, Hugh.”

Hugh hums and tries to press back into Paul’s touch.

“It’s five in the morning. I thought you might like some time to wake up, stretch and have breakfast before we leave. There’s even coffee.”

Yeah, and who knows how long that will last.

Hugh sighs and pushes himself up. That makes him lose the heat from Paul’s fingers, and in exchange he gets to feel how sore he is from lying on the ground.

The bedroll next to him is still looking just how it did when the tent popped open.

“Uh, Paul?”

“Yes?”

“Who am I sharing the tent with?”

“Well… nobody, really.” Paul follows his glance. “Why?”

“Then who came in yesterday?”

“Me. Why?”

Fuck, but it’s cold. Hugh gropes for his shirt in the pile where he left all his stuff. Of course the clothes are cold and damp. That’s just perfect.

“I, um, I thought you didn’t like having to babysit me.”

Paul’s face is very carefully neutral when he replies, “I prefer it over being around the other soldiers. I… suppose you don’t always know what you have until something else happens that changes the previous situation.”

Hugh sighs softly. “What did they do?”

“Nothing, they just don’t like me. I’m sorry, I should’ve asked. I promise I didn’t stare at you.”

“Paul? It’s fine. You can stay in here. You can also sleep here if that’s - if you can.”

“Thank you.”

“And if it helps, I’ll talk to them.”

“No! No, it’ll be fine.”

 

 

 

 

Hugh worries about Paul during the next leg. He hates that he feels excluded and lonely. Paul deserves better than that. As a matter of fact, Paul deserves to be curled up in a window seat looking out over a wild garden, book in his hand, hot drink next to him and someone who loves him hugging him.

Well where the fuck did that mental image come from? 

It’s a good one though. Paul somewhere comfortable, being loved the way he deserves to be.

One day, Hugh promises, more to himself than Paul. One day he’s going to offer Paul all the love he can give him.

And all the kisses, too. As long as Paul wants them.

 

 

* * *

 

 

_I didn’t think anything could feel even more, well, even more alive, I suppose, than the camp, but here I am. There’s wind on my skin every second now, there are trees, grass, shrubs, ferns, so many living things, and I can touch them all. Every time I take a step, I put my foot somewhere I’ve never been before. Maybe nobody has ever brushed against that blade of grass, that leaf, that flower before. I would love to scan all of them and just let myself be immersed in how alive this place feels. How alive it makes me feel._

_I guess the others are a little more preoccupied with walking and climbing. That’s fair. They must all have seen places like this before. They’ve been outside before. Me… well, not so much. And I don’t struggle as much with walking, of course._

_I would love to just explore this place. Check every ridge, every cavern, every crevice for… I don’t even know what for. For the life that this planet seems so full of. I would also love to take off my clothes and just lie on the ground and listen to the forest around me, but that’s probably not going to happen. Besides, Hugh seems to have a problem with nakedness, considering how he always covers up even when it’s just me. All the humans have that problem, really. I understand they feel cold and heat, and that too elevated temperatures are damaging to their systems. They’re damaging to mine, too, of course. But temperatures here are roundabout 26 degrees, which is a perfectly acceptable temperature for humans to exist in. Yet they - and Commander Landry especially - insist on wearing clothes._

_Even though Hugh takes them off for the night. I just don’t understand. But seeing how nakedness appears to be taboo, I’m also not going to ask._

_I should remind Hugh to keep his clothes on for the night, though._

_I… also can’t stop thinking about running away. I do have a spectroscope scanner, so I could sustain myself; I know the rainwater on Alterra is drinkable, and even if it weren’t, I do have a water purifier as well, even though I need far less liquid than a human. I would leave the tent with Hugh, of course, since he needs it far more than I do, and I’m sure I could build a little hut maybe, out of trees. My multitool ought to be able to cut them. I wouldn’t need much more. I could visit the monolith first, try to gather some intel. Since they could track me via my comm unit and my holo-map, I would leave those there, and then just continue on. Somewhere. If I stay far away enough, it would be years, maybe forever until someone were to find me. And I could just watch this planet._

_Admittedly, most of the life seems to be happening in the water, so I would eventually have to fashion a fabricator to refine materials and build a submarine; or maybe there would be one in one of the wrecks, and then maybe I could continue my explorations underwater._

_I would miss Hugh, of course. Michael, too - she’s been very kind. And Tilly, of course. If one of my components should break, I would have to make do without a replacement._

_But still. I could just… be._

_I wonder whether it would be lonely. I did find storage to be lonely, surrounded by only dead things. But the forest is alive. The waters are alive. And whatever creatures I might find, they’re alive too._

_Maybe the precursors. Hugh probably can’t understand how I know about them. Not that I do, either. Sometimes… sometimes knowledge is just_ there _, in my mind, ready to be used. Other times, I have to go looking. And even other times I know it’s there, but something is blocking me. And sometimes the knowledge just shows up. Like the knowledge about the precursors. I don’t know where it came from, or why it showed up, but sometimes there are certain triggers, apparently._

_It’s very confusing. I wonder whether human brains are as confusing as well. They do seem - well, as a species, they don’t really… that’s mean, but I don’t think that without all their gadgets they could survive. What makes them so special? Historically, only the fact that they have opposable thumbs. A trait that a number of apes share. So how come humans evolved?_

_I don’t know enough about evolution to think about that too much, but it is weird._

_Maybe Hugh knows more._

_The one downside to this trek - crusade, maybe? - is that I get way less alone time with Hugh. I also didn’t properly cherish it before we left, so there’s that as well. There isn’t really anything specific I want to talk with him about, I just want to spend the time with him._

_I like seeing him smile. I like_ making _him smile._

_I’ve been trying to correlate my abnormal vital sign readings with any known affliction I have stored in my database, including all the medical downloads I’ve made from Hugh’s equipment, but none of the entries I’ve found mention anything of those readings occurring only in the presence or when thinking about a specific person. Unless it’s fear, of course. But I’m not afraid of Hugh (really, I can’t see how anyone would be afraid of him), and I actively seek out his company, which I understand is not common when you fear something or someone._

_I hope it’s not a glitch. I_ like _feeling like that around him. It’s weird, but good._

_The thing is just - if I do run away - and I think about that more and more with every passing minute, because this is my opportunity! The humans are all exhausted, so they won’t notice me leaving until it’s already too late for them to find me again, and then I doubt they’d go through the trouble of finding me. After all, I’m just there to protect Hugh, and a rescue mission would take way too much manpower, so they could just assign Hugh a human bodyguard. So if I do run away… I can’t take Hugh with me. I would, of course, if I could. We could have a little hut close to the beach, but not so close anything could get us, and maybe once I promised him there are no monsters around, and if I went in with him, I could protect him. He would be naked though._

_Which is really not the worst thing. He is a very good looking man._

_So the only question would be whether he would run away with me, or whether I would have to leave him behind. It’s… obviously not a choice I want to make, but I also can’t force him if he’d be unhappy with that. He has to make his own choices, and so do I._

_It’s also unrealistic to expect that he would want to come with me instead of spending more time with fellow humans. Same how it’s unrealistic to expect he likes me the way I do._

_There is a certain solace in that, though. I can still like him and be nice to him and all that. He’ll never reciprocate, of course, but I’ll stay by his side. As long as he needs me._

_I also want to kiss him a little._

_A lot, really._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't want to make any dumb long speeches (already made one up there, so ;) ) buuut lemme just say again that i'm so, so grateful so many people still enjoy this dumb little story and that you're all along for the ride; and a special thanks to everyone who ever left me a comment because there isn't a single one that didn't make me smile, laugh, squeal or (most often) snicker evilly :D  
> also i mean the story isn't over yet and unless something happens the next chapter should be up next sunday so jsdlfkasdf imma shut up now.
> 
>  
> 
> also come say hi on [tumblr](http://www.shroom-boi.tumblr.com) to tell me i'm horrible for not letting them kiss yet, or just leave a comment here! either would absolutely make my day <3

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading! i hope you liked it! please tell me so if you did, comments are my lifeblood <3  
> and as always, come say hi over at [@shroom-boi](http://www.shroom-boi.tumblr.com)


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